Page 83 of Mr. Edwards

“Really? I’d like that.”

“There’s a special art to making the perfect smore, you’re lucky I’m an expert at it.”

“Of course, you are,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“With your limited cooking skills, you’re probably going to suck, but rest assured you’ll have me to guide you with my awesomeness.”

“Ha-ha.” She pinches my side making me laugh. “I can’t help it if I didn’t have a positive role model when I was young.”

“I’m just messing with you, sunshine.” I pull our conjoined hands up to my face, planting a kiss on her knuckles. “I wish I was around when you were younger so I could’ve taken care of you. My heart bleeds for that little girl, I hate the life that you had.”

I can tell by the change in the expression on her face, that my words stir up a range of emotions inside her. “I don’t ever want you to feel obligated to stay because of the life I’ve had. I don’t need anyone’s pity, Gray.”

Why does my heart rate kick up a notch when she calls me Gray?

“I admire you, not pity you, Carlee. I keep you around for purely selfish reasons.” Her eyes move over my face, and the vulnerability I saw the night I first met her is reflected back at me. “Do you want to know why I’m stillhere?” She nods instead of answering. “Because I can no longer imagine a life without you in it. You’re it for me.”

The reality is, this woman doesn’t need me, she doesn’t need anyone, she’s the heroine of her own story.

“What can I do to help?” Carlee asks, coming up behind me and sliding her arms around my waist.

“The meat is marinating, all I need to do is make the salad and put the garlic bread in the oven.”

It’s Sunday, game day, so Ashton and Emma are coming over for a barbeque lunch before the football starts.

“I can do that.”

I glance at her over my shoulder. “You can make salads?”

“Ha-ha. It doesn’t involve cooking, smart-ass, so I’m sure I can manage.”

“Okay then.” Opening the fridge, I grab everything she’ll need, placing it on the countertop next to the chopping board. “Have at it.”

She gives me a dubious look as she opens the second drawer and retrieves a knife. “Do I need to wash all this stuff first?”

“Yeah, babe,” I say, reaching into the fridge for a beer. I crack the top and lean against the counter so I can observe her. This should be entertaining if nothing else.

My gaze sweeps over her sweet round ass, and down her bare legs to her hot-pink-painted toenails. She looks smoking in those tiny denim shorts and one of my 49ersjerseys that falls off one shoulder. She’s tied it in a knot on the side at her waist, bearing a hint of the creamy smooth skin on her stomach. I adjust my cock in my pants as I force my eyes back to the salad prep, or I’m going to need to fuck her again, and our guests will be arriving any minute.

Ashton’s finally gotten his shit together, so much so, he’s not only moved Emma into his place but he’s also proposed. I knew he would do the right thing by her and the baby, and I couldn’t be happier for them. He needs a good woman in his life, especially after everything he’s endured, and Em is the best. She’s sweet, kind, and most importantlysane.

I’m hoping the guy I grew up with, the one pre-Anastasia, returns full force because he hasn’t been himself in a very long time.

Carlee rinses a tomato first and gets to work. I internally wince with every slice, she’s decimating the fucking thing, but I don’t have the heart to say anything. There’s a combination of giant pieces and teeny-tiny ones. No uniform at all.

It all goes down the same way, right?

She scoops up the mess when she’s done, tossing it in the bowl. She looks over at me with a shit-eating grin on her face, and I can’t help but return it. She’s so dang proud of herself.

“You’ll make a chef out of me yet, Mr. Edwards.”

“You’re doing a great job, babe,” I lie.

When the doorbell chimes, I guzzle down the rest of my beer and toss the bottle in the recycling bin. I also grab a handful of Carlee’s luscious ass as I pass, giving it a firm squeeze.

I open the front door, and the first thing I notice is the massive smile on Ashton’s face. I can’t remember the lasttime I saw him look so genuinely happy, and fuck if that doesn’t do something to me. I feel like I’ve been fighting for this very moment for years.

His arm is slung over Emma’s shoulder, and he has a pie balancing in his other hand.