Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
She looks out over the store as if picturing all the inventory that would likely be purchased by those.
"It's Monday. You could post about the sale in the community group, and I bet we have no less than a dozen students in here curing your overstock problem by closing time."
"That may work," she says.
"It's a simple two-key click on the register to make it happen," I urge.
"You post in the group," she says, making up her mind. "I'll work on a feature that puts those books up front and center."
I help Sage with the display after submitting my post, praying that Bobby John Pritchard, the man who controls the post approvals in the community group, is quick to let it go through.
I'm walking to the backroom to find something to liven the new display up when a text makes my phone chime.
Mac: Want to grab something to eat on the way home after work?
I tilt my head, wondering if I'm the one with the problem where he's concerned instead of the other way around. I swear the guy is going to give me whiplash.
Me: No, thank you. I prefer to make my own meals.
Mac: What if I buy the food and you cook?
I could spit nails.
Me: No.
Mac: I thought you wanted to get paid to cook.
My lips form a flat line because I don't even think of it that way.
I guess he technically is helping me by paying for food since money is something that's a little tighter than normal these days. I just can't decide if he wants to eat something I cook or if he's trying to fix my problem, which would be somewhat condescending.
I opt to think positively and remind myself of how disappointed he looked this morning when I told him all of the breakfast casserole was gone. He was really looking forward to another serving of it, and that's because it was delicious.
Me: I don't trust you to buy the right ingredients.
Mac: I'll CashApp you some money, just nothing weird. Maybe something out of your grandmother's recipe book, like that casserole thing.
I roll my lips between my teeth. If he were standing in front of me, I'd snap at him for even thinking what I cook is weird. Just because he hasn't eaten a variety of foods in his life doesn't make those things weird.
My phone chimes with an alert. Mac just sent me a hundred dollars.
And there's a sinking feeling in my gut that makes me wonder if I'm nothing more than a hooker at this point. Great sex and money tossed my way.
I straighten my spine and try to look at everything from a different angle.
The sex was great. We both benefited from that if the grunt that came from the very middle of his chest when he came last night is any indication.
He doesn't want to sleep in a hotel, and I have a spare room.
Maybe he left last night because it's sort of what we agreed to that first night, with the whole no-strings-attached thing.
He's helping with the bills, which was also agreed to.
I'm cooking, and he's paying for the groceries. It's all above board, sort of, and nothing remotely similar to prostitution.
Chapter 18
Mac
My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Would it be weird to just open it and walk in?
She did agree to let me stay here, so it would be weirder to knock and make her answer the door, right?
Hoping I make the right decision, I open the door, the scent of something delicious hitting my nose before I can even cross the threshold to stand inside.
I pull in a deep breath and let the aromas swirl around me.
Other than growing up when Mom would have dinner ready and on the table by five when my dad got home from work, I've never had this. I've never been in a serious relationship where someone cooked for me.
I know better than to think of this as anything more than transactional, but knowing I'm going to have a good meal after a hard day's work hits me in a way I wouldn't want to speak out loud.
I know I paid for the food. That's my end of the bargain, and hers is to cook, but there's a labor of love that goes into preparing a meal for someone, and I know better than to just see this as her doing her part, despite knowing that's exactly what it is.
She's standing at the sink washing a few dishes. The sway of her decadent ass and the off-tune words coming from her mouth tell me she has those earbuds in just like she did last week at my house. My body has the same reaction as it did then, my mouth watering for more than what she has on the stove.
She's sexy as hell, leagues above any woman I've had the privilege of putting my hands on, and knowing exactly what she feels like when she is under me, knowing the noises she makes when she feels pleasure, makes it very difficult not to pick her up and carry her out of the kitchen much the same way I did that first time.