Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Great.”
I went home, stopping at the grocery store. Ginny was there, the store empty. I headed to the hot counter, disappointed to only see a quarter chicken left. I grabbed it and some salad and took it to pay. She clicked her tongue at me. “Hardly enough for a growing boy.”
I laughed. “I’ll take what I can get, but I am hardly a growing boy anymore.”
She shook her head as I swiped my credit card. I was too tired to pump her for information today or even make much small talk.
At Kassie’s place, I shut off the engine, noticing the back gate open. I slid out, grimacing a little, as she appeared from the back, a small bundle of green in her hand.
“Hey,” I greeted her, reaching to the passenger side to grab my dinner.
She hesitated then came over. “Hello. How goes filming?”
I studied her, her natural prettiness so pleasing to me. Her hair was in a braid, hanging over one shoulder, the light glinting off the unusual color. Her green eyes were soft yet wary as she met my gaze. My eyes dropped to her mouth, recalling the softness of it underneath mine the other night. Noticing my stare, she bit her lip, worrying the plump flesh. Unbidden, I reached over, pulling the skin from her teeth. “Don’t hurt yourself.” I tapped her lips. “I like these just the way they are.”
“Stop it,” she murmured, glaring at me.
“Just speaking the truth.”
“Keep it to yourself.”
I leaned on the car, amused. “You always bit your lip when nervous. Even as a kid. I make you nervous?”
“You make me irritated.”
I chuckled, pushing off the car. “Well, I will go eat dinner and irritate myself.”
She snorted, looking at my takeout containers. “That’s dinner?”
“It’s all that was left at the store. I’m starving, I have a headache, and I need a hot shower. My back is killing me.”
Instantly, her ire melted. “What’s wrong?”
“Too much time on the horse today. Too late for lunch, and no decent snacks.”
She was gnawing on her bottom lip. “I have dinner,” she burst out.
I lifted one eyebrow. “Good for you.”
“Enough to share.”
I froze. “Really?”
“Yes. I was just getting some cilantro.”
“I would love to have you for—I mean, dinner with you.” I grinned widely at her with a wink.
“And I will add inappropriate to that irritating comment earlier,” she sniffed haughtily, turning and heading to her door.
I followed her, the obedient dog I was, eager for dinner. More time with her.
“Just being honest,” I insisted. “You said you liked honesty. And that was the most delicious pie I’ve ever had. And that mouth of—”
She whirled around, her eyes no longer soft. She glared at me. “Keep it to yourself. And no flirting, funny stuff, or innuendos, Oliver Wendall Hart. You hear me?”
She was gorgeous when she was annoyed. Her eyes flashed emerald, her cheeks rosy, and her voice lower than normal. Fucking sex on legs. But I knew when not to push. I widened my eyes in mock fear. “Oh, full name. No flirting, funny stuff, or teasing. Got it.”
“Good.” She turned to head to the door, but I caught it. A glimmer of a smile on her face. A smile she was trying to hide.
But I saw it.
And I could work with that.
13
OLIVER
Igroaned around a mouthful of the casserole I was eating. “God, this is good, Kassie.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
I eyed the pan between us on the table. “You always make such big meals?”
She laughed, shaking her head and taking a sip of water. “No, but this recipe makes an enormous batch. I freeze it in portions. I do that a lot. It’s no fun cooking for one. I have soups, casseroles, pasta dishes in the freezer, so all I have to do is heat something up after I defrost it.”
“I appreciate you sharing with me.” I ate another few mouthfuls of the casserole, the chicken and cheese sauce oozing from the tortilla layers. I copied Kassie and added salsa on top, plus some jalapeños she had chopped up, the spicy flavor hitting my tongue with every mouthful. She had always liked spicy food. It was another thing we had in common.
“So you cook all your meals?”
“No, I like a takeout every so often. And I have lunch at least once a week with Quinn or Laura, so I eat my main meal then and have cheese and crackers those nights. Sometimes a sandwich.”
I found myself craving more details from her. To get to know her again. “What’s your favorite takeout?”
She looked at me as if I was crazy. “The Wong Man.”
I sat back, surprised. “He’s still here?”
She nodded.
I recalled driving that way, and I frowned. “But all those buildings are gone.”
“He moved to Smythe Street. A nicer, newer location. His son runs the place now. Still the best and busiest restaurant around.”