Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Let me get this right; you’re inviting me to bring dinner to your house?”
“Kind of,” Max admitted. “I burned dinner and”—he lowered his voice—“I’m scared of my kids when they’re hungry. It’s a dangerous situation.”
A gurgle of laughter brought an unwilling smile to his face.
“I’ll be there as fast as I can. If you have to lock yourself in the bathroom until I get there, I’ll rescue you.”
“Thanks, Casey, and don’t forget dessert.”
“For the kids or you?”
“Get the kids the chocolate cake. I already know what I’m having for dessert.”
Chapter 15
“Can I have another leg?” Randy asked.
Casey leaned forward, handing him the bucket. “Help yourself.”
The little boy gave her a gap-toothed smile as he took the bucket from her.
“Don’t make yourself sick,” Max warned.
Casey wiped her fingers on a napkin, handing one to Maxim who was wiping his hand on his pant leg.
“This is good. Can we do it again next weekend?” Maxton asked.
“I don’t know if my ass can handle sitting on the floor two weekends in a row.” Max adjusted himself on the floor, straightening his legs to the side.
When she had suggested setting a blanket on the floor so they could all sit together and eat, the children had jumped at the suggestion. Max had looked at her doubtfully while Randy had jumped up and down in glee, and Maxie had gone into the bedroom to bring back a large blanket.
The children had loved the adventure of scooting the furniture back and laying the blanket down on the carpet. Setting the food down, they had turned the takeout dinner into a picnic.
Casey ate her food, watching as Max talked to his kids about their week. He asked questions about their activities and friends, all the while letting them have his undivided attention. He was friendly, but the underlying sternness was there if they told him something he wasn’t happy with.
“Can I go to a movie next Saturday? Mom said I had to ask you for permission,” Maxie asked.
“Who with?” Max asked with a chicken leg in his large hand.
“With my friend Abbey.” The girl looked away from Max’s sharp gaze.
“Anyone else?”
“Her brother,” Maxie admitted.
“How old is this brother?”
“Sixteen.” A light blush filled her face.
“No. If you two girls want to go to the movie, I’ll take you and drop you off then pick you up when it’s over.”
Maxie made a face. “That won’t be any fun!”
“If you were just going to watch the movie, what difference does it make if I take you? If you want to go, I’ll take you. If you don’t want me to, then you can sit your ass at home.”
“Then I’ll stay home!” Maxie jumped up from the blanket and ran from the room. The loud slam of the bedroom door had Casey wincing in sympathy for the girl. Max, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned as he cut the small Bundt cake into pieces for the rest of his kids.
Casey took the piece he offered her.
“You think I’m wrong?”
She shook her head. “No, but I think you could have put it nicer or asked if her mother could take her, instead. She could have been worried that you would intimidate her friends.”
“She’s worried I’ll hit the punk who thinks he’s got a clear path to my thirteen-year-old daughter.”
“That, too,” Casey agreed.
“Can I have another piece of cake?” Randy’s face was covered in chocolate.
“Why don’t you finish that piece on your face?” Max handed him a napkin.
Casey stood when she finished her cake, helping Max to clean up. The boys were playing a video game when she went into the kitchen to put the leftovers away. When she turned back, Max was leaning against the counter.
“Thanks for bringing dinner. The kids liked it, even Maxie.”
“I did, too. Cole and I used to do it sometimes when we were kids.” Casey couldn’t keep the sadness out of her voice.
“You and Cole are tight, aren’t you?”
“Not only is he my brother, he’s my best friend.”
Max turned to the stove, dumping the remains of the dinner he had cooked into the trash.
“What was it?” Casey asked curiously.
“SpaghettiOs. I got off work late and didn’t have time to run by the grocery store before I picked the kids up.”
“You work?”
Max threw the pot into the sink. “I work fifty hours a week at the furniture factory.”
“I just asked. I didn’t know.” Casey regretted that she kept saying the wrong things to him. His masculine pride was like a minefield. She never knew it was too late until she stepped on them.
“Now you do,” Max snapped.
“It’s getting late; I should go.”
Max’s hand on her arm had her pausing.
“Sorry, I guess you thinking I was too lazy to hold a job down was getting to me.”
“I don’t think you’re lazy, Max. You never talk about your work. I—”
“There’s not a lot to talk about. I load and unload furniture onto a truck all day.”