Total pages in book: 195
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
“Can we just pretend last night never happened?” Bianca asks as she focuses on the coffeepot in her hand.
“Works for me.” I grab a frying pan because I need something else to concentrate on.
I can feel her eyes on me as I pull out some eggs and a loaf of bread.
“Let me do that,” she says. “Your cooking sucks.”
I cock a brow at her, and she holds my gaze. If I were a gentleman, I’d check her face and make sure she’s okay, but I don’t trust myself to be that close to her.
“Suit yourself.” I leave the kitchen to her and take a seat at the table, dragging my phone out to check for updates.
Since Bianca has been locked up here, she isn’t aware that I have a life outside of this house. My job in the Beards of War consists of tending to the marijuana we grow and sell. Ace is the breeder, and I like to think of myself as the gardener. I don’t need the money, but I do it to help the community out and keep myself busy. Apart from that, I also take regular trips to visit Jackie and Zoe. Something I’m not quite sure how I’m going to navigate now that I’m granting Bianca more freedom around the house.
When I look at my phone, there are a couple of texts from the guys about adjustments that need to be made with the plants. I’ll have to do that after breakfast. I reply and move on to the email from Lucian that popped up in my notifications. He tells me there are no updates on DNA yet and asks if I can do lunch this week.
I tap out four different replies before erasing them all. I don’t want to meet with Lucian because if he finds out I have Bianca here, he’ll either have me committed or try to force me into a decision now. Lucian’s only interest is to ensure that I don’t wind up in prison for the rest of my life, and he’s not going to understand my reluctance to turn over the woman currently cooking in my kitchen.
“You need to go shopping,” Bianca grumbles as she opens random cupboards, scoping out the bare shelves.
I don’t bother with a reply as my eyes drift to the curves of her ass, which I can still remember vividly from last night. Fucking hell, I almost came inside her. I was so close to letting myself go. That can’t happen again.
“Here.” Bianca sets a couple of plates on the table and sits down across from me. “I guess this will have to do for now. Don’t get anything twisted, either. Just because I cooked something edible for us to eat doesn’t mean I like you.”
Listening to her use my words from last night is almost amusing. Almost. But I’m not a fucking psychopath.
“Fine by me.” I shrug. “The feeling’s mutual.”
My stomach rumbles as I load a forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs and bring it to my lips, but before I take a bite, I think better of it.
“Seriously?” She rolls her eyes when I look at her. “You think I poisoned you? With what? The ten gallons of hot sauce you keep in the fridge to make your food even slightly palatable?”
When I don’t respond, she takes the first bite and chews, watching me in challenge.
“Should I add some eggshells to it?” She smirks. “Would that make it more to your liking?”
“It might taste like shit, but my food’s kept you alive,” I reply.
“Well, if you try to feed me one more peanut butter sandwich, I might be forced to go on a hunger strike,” she says. “So just keep that in mind.”
“All you had to do was admit you don’t like them.” I take a bite and swallow, and fuck, that’s good. I forgot how much I liked her cooking, but I’m not about to tell her that.
Her fork hovers in the air as she stares at her plate. “I’m not her. As much as you want me to be, I’m not her.”
“Yes,” I tell her. “You are.”
Tension edges its way into the softness of her features before she dips her head and swallows. “You’re never going to believe me, are you?”
The question hangs heavy in the air between us, and I leave it that way. There’s no point in beating a dead horse, but at some juncture, I’ll have to decide how the fuck we go forward from here. We can waffle back and forth on it all day long, but it won’t change anything.
We finish our plates, and Bianca clears the table, taking the dishes to the sink to rinse. I’m not sure what compels me, but I grab a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and approach her from behind, turning her in my arms. A tremor moves through her as I apply the bag to her cheekbone.