Page 32 of Pretty Poison
Rocky stared at his phone for a second before returning it to the table. Five fucking thirty? Jesus. Why was she up so early? A thump against the front door made him jump until he realized it was just the newspaper hitting it. His delivery guy launched the rolled-up paper like a hand grenade before driving off to the next target. Rocky headed to the door to retrieve the newspaper from the front porch. Opening his door triggered the motion sensor in his porch light. The damn thing was bright enough to illuminate his entire front yard. It had seemed like a great idea when his nana was living there alone, but he could’ve done without the temporary loss of eyesight.
Rocky heard a sharp intake of breath. He blinked until the black dots cleared his vision. Mrs. Baylor and her standard poodle, Clark, stood on the sidewalk in front of his house, both staring at him. Mrs. Baylor’s mouth hung open in shock, but Clark appeared to be grinning.
“Morning,” Rocky said, waving at her.
She made a harrumphing sound and resumed her walk without so much as a wave or a middle finger.
“What’s her problem?” Rocky shrugged and shut the door. Maybe she was just surprised to see someone else awake at the awful hour.
He headed to the kitchen to start the coffee. Once the pot was brewing, he checked the refrigerator’s contents to make sure he had something Asher could whip up for himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stopped at the grocery store, but Rocky usually had breakfast food on hand since it was one of the few things he made well. Asher had insisted he not cook, so Rocky grabbed a fork and dug into the cinnamon rolls.
He was still leaning against the counter, stuffing his face, when Asher walked in sometime later. He was dressed in black from head to toe again. His shirt looked even tighter than the one he’d worn yesterday. Rocky briefly debated making jokes about the effects of eating Southern food already kicking in, but he was the one shoving thousands of calories into his face before sunrise.
Asher raked his eyes over Rocky, a half smile flirting with the right corner of his mouth. “Is that what you plan to eat for breakfast?”
Rocky swallowed his bite and said, “Cinnamon rolls are breakfast food.”
“Okay, let me rephrase my question. Is that all you’re going to eat?”
“I plan to have a cup of coffee in a minute. Caffeine and carbs. The breakfast of champions.”
Asher pursed his lips and nodded. “After a night of little sleep, you’re setting yourself up for a hard crash. How about we offset the coffee and the carbs with some protein?”
“Two cinnamon rolls,” he corrected. Either Asher had taken his sweet time in the shower, or Rocky was greedy. Both of those things were a possibility. The latter would explain why he couldn’t prevent his mind from imagining what would keep Asher in the shower for such a long time. Gluttony was definitely to blame for Rocky quirking a brow and asking, “What did you have in mind?”
Asher’s lips slowly spread and curved upward into a smile that would make any villain proud. “What doyouhave in mind?”
Rocky swallowed again and nearly choked on air. “I was thinking of scrambled eggs.”
“Uh-huh,” Asher said, turning to the refrigerator.
Setting the aluminum pan on the counter, Rocky pulled the mixing bowl from the cabinet and a whisk from the drawer while Asher pulled out ingredients from the refrigerator.
“How old is this ham?” Asher asked.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. Sniff it.”
“Yousniff it.”
Rocky crossed the room. Asher lifted the deli bag up, and Rocky took a deep whiff to see if the contents were still fresh. “It’s good.”
“Forgive me if I doubt your food freshness test.”
Rocky shrugged. “It’s never let me down before.”
“They say there’s a first time for everything, but I’ll happily go the rest of my life without experiencing food poisoning.”
They locked eyes and started to laugh because it was a conversation they’d had many times during their short marriage. Rocky reached inside the deli bag and tore off a hunk of meat and popped it into his mouth. Asher’s eyes dropped to Rocky’s lips and he seemed mesmerized by their movement. And maybe Rocky chewed the tiny piece longer than necessary before swallowing and declaring it safe enough for Asher to eat.
“Where do you keep your skillets?” Asher asked.
Rocky crossed his arms over his chest. “And you claim to know me so well.” He muscled Asher out of the way and opened the oven door, then gestured to the pots and pans stacked neatly inside. “Tah-dah.”
Asher chuckled and shook his head. “I’d hoped this habit had changed in my absence, especially considering this kitchen is twice the size of the one we shared in Vegas.”
Rocky would never forget the playful bantering that followed when Asher discovered he kept his pots and pans in the oven. He’d had very little storage in the tiny kitchen, and Rocky rarely used the oven part of the appliance. The storage solution made perfect sense to him. Asher hadn’t agreed. Their bantering back then had turned into teasing touches and kisses, which led them to abandon food altogether.
It would be easy for them to fall into the same routine, but Rocky wouldn’t allow it. So he said, “It’s not about size, you queen. It’s about practicality. I don’t need an oven, so why not use it for storage?”