Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Chapter Fourteen
Jude
No matter what intentions I set prior, mornings after were inevitably awkward, even with a friend I liked as much as Carson. Maybe especially with a friend like Carson, because I was so wary of ruining things between us. While I’d liked everyone I’d hooked up with over the years, there was something about Carson that set him apart from other friends. I liked him on a level that was more than a little scary.
Accordingly, when my phone alarm blared, we each stumbled around, not quite looking at each other, getting ready in a quiet that was slowly killing me.
“We should get breakfast,” I said as I buckled my belt, needing to break the silence as much or more than I needed food.
“Yeah.” Carson rolled his neck from side to side. “Here?”
“It’s included.” Like many chains, a basic breakfast buffet was included. Nothing fancy, but I was thrifty enough to take advantage when free breakfast was offered.
“Easy.” Carson shrugged like he had little opinion on the matter and finished pulling on his work boots.
He followed me to the elevator in more loaded silence. I pushed the button two times. Carson stayed my hand before I could do it a third time.
“Don’t be weird.” He met my gaze finally, a firmness to his eyes that reassured me.
“I’m not.” I was a terrible liar, and Carson chuckled and shook his head.
“We’re cool.” He gave me a fast pat on the shoulder as the elevator arrived. “Promise.”
“Good.” I was reassured that he wasn’t about to wriggle out of our friendship, but I was still hyperaware of his presence as we grabbed plates and made our way down the buffet set up in the lobby. We piled our plates with sausage patties, scrambled eggs, and toasted English muffins. Carson added a danish from a pastry case that I reluctantly skipped.
We found a table where we could sit across from each other. As I sprinkled pepper on my eggs, Carson added two packets of ketchup to his.
“You put ketchup on scrambled eggs?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Yep.” Carson continued right on doctoring up his plate to his taste. His casual tone made it clear he did this all the time. “Made chow hall eggs edible.”
“I guess that works.” I didn’t want to judge, but I personally found the idea unappetizing. It also hit me that there was so much I still didn’t know about Carson. And I wanted to. In fact, I wanted to know every little detail about him, from how he liked his eggs to what brand of shampoo he used. I gestured at him with my fork. “Any other strange food preferences?”
“Hmm.” Carson finished his bite of eggs as he thought. “No olives. No pickles. No pineapple.”
“No pineapple?” I had noticed he usually picked burgers without pickles, but the pineapple thing was new. “On pizza or on anything?”
“Anything.” Carson made a sour face. “Makes my mouth burn.”
“Don’t want that,” I said before I could think better of it. Heat crackled between us, the memory of last night’s double header hanging between our linked gazes like a banner.
Carson was the first to look away, glancing down at his eggs. “Frosting is too sweet.”
“I’ll take your frosting.” I smiled, worried less about innuendo after the easy way he’d returned to the topic. He was right. This didn’t have to be weird. “Cake is merely a vehicle for icing.”
“Says you.” Carson’s tone was teasing, and the familiarity of this exchange pushed the last of the awkward tension from my chest. Carson stabbed a bite of sausage before continuing. “Don’t like soup.”
“Bah.” I faked disappointment at this difference between us. “I eat far too much canned stuff. It’s easy. I hate cooking, especially for one.”
“Never learned.” Carson’s eyebrows drew closer together. “Wouldn’t mind trying.”
A cozy scene of Carson learning to cook in my kitchen flitted through my brain. Warmth spread down my arms, hands clenching with how much I wanted that.
“I can grill though.” The urge to share that sort of domestic scene with him was so strong I’d happily buy him a stack of cookbooks. In the meantime, though, maybe I could lure him over to my place. “My offer of steak and gaming still stands.”
“Steak needs to be rare.” Carson nodded like his coming for dinner was a done deal.
“I can work with that.” I grinned at him, as happy as I’d been all morning.
“Then it’s a…” Carson paused, a muscle working in his jaw. Hell. I couldn’t tell whether he was struggling to find the word or simply didn’t want to say date.
“Hang out.” I broke my own rule of not filling in words for him.
“Sure.” Carson’s mouth twisted, but before I could overthink his expression, my phone beeped with an incoming message from the manager at the equine hospital. I typed a quick reply, then turned my attention back to Carson, who was finishing up his breakfast.