Page 120 of Rock Bottom Girl

“Why don’t you explain this idea in graphic detail?” I suggested.

“You and I are going to go inside and…” She leaned in closer and nibbled at my jaw.

“And?” I demanded, practically breathless with anticipation.

“And clean your kitchen.”

51

Marley

This was probably a terrible idea. Bringing Jake into my parents’ lives like this. Getting their hopes up that their wayward daughter was finally getting her life in order with an extraordinarily good-looking guy who had eluded other hopeful bachelorettes for nearly forty years.

I was painting a “look how special and great” I am picture when I knew I’d just be snatching this reality away from them in a few short months. I was officially the worst.

The doorbell rang, and I rocketed out of the kitchen. “I’ll get it,” I shouted. “And don’t touch the roast!”

“Do you want me to stir the gravy?” Mom yelled back.

“No! Touch nothing!”

Skidding to a stop at the front door, I wiped my hands on my jeans. Just a casual meet-the-parents Sunday dinner with Jake who’d fucked me six ways to Heaven in the last twenty-four hours. I was acting like a giddy girlfriend. Hell, Ifeltlike a giddy girlfriend. The fake part of our relationship was getting gray and swampy, and I was up to my hips in the murkiness of it.

I opened the door and wondered if there was anything sexier than Jake Weston, leaning casually against the doorway looking sinfully delicious in jeans and a button-down and that damn leather jacket. He had his motorcycle helmet under one arm and a gift bag dangling from the fingers of his other hand.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Yeah, okay. I was swooning inside. So sue me. My body was still on high alert from all those orgasms he’d doled out. It saw Jake and thought of nudity and SpaghettiOs and warm, strong arms wrapped around it. It was biology, plain and simple, that had me slobbering like a dental patient.

“Hey. Hi,” I said, playing it super cool. I wasn’t fooling him. He crooked his giftbag-holding finger at me until I stepped closer. I knew what he wanted, and I was only too happy to give it to him.

Glancing over my shoulder, I made sure my parents hadn’t materialized behind me before I pressed a soft kiss to his hard mouth.

He gave a little growl of approval, and I thought about taking my pants off right there in the foyer.

“Well, look at you two lovebirds,” a voice boomed behind me.

“Dietrich, you remember Jake, right?” I said, reluctantly pulling back from the kiss.

Jake put down his helmet, and they performed a manly good-to-see-you handshake.

“Marley!” Dad yelped from the kitchen. “The gravy bubbled. Should I add more cornstarch?”

“Don’t touch anything!” I shouted.

“You might as well come on back with me,” I told Jake. “You and D can grab beers while I finish up.”

They followed me into the kitchen.

“Your lady can cook, my friend,” Dietrich said.

“Don’t I know it, man,” Jake agreed.

I felt little wings of happiness at the praise. Cooking had been my way of coping with new places and jobs and so many new starts. Every few years, it was a complete reboot, and I ended up in a new city or a new town knowing no one. I’d spent more birthdays alone than I cared to admit.

Cooking had given me a hobby, an outlet. A way to create something. And I took pleasure in feeding the people who did enter my life.

“Jake’s here,” I said unnecessarily as I entered the room.