Page 24

Dustin

T ina screams and drops an egg on the floor. I love how flustered I can make her. I’d like to say it takes effort, but it’s surprisingly easy. Her skin flushes with a rosy color I’d like to bottle up and drink. She grumbles and kneels at my feet to clean up her mess.

I spent the whole fucking time at the gym yesterday listening to Fuckface brag about texting Tina the other day. About how he asked her to have dinner with him. Then Tucker sent me a screen shot of a blogger’s post all about me and Tina, highlighting Tina’s response to a particularly nasty comment. Reading it was like someone had my heart in a vice and twisted. So, I deserve to see her kneel.

And so help me… if I find out Fuckface is the reason there’s little buttons all over the floor…that he came over and touched what’s mine, I’ll kill him.

Aware of how my proximity makes her antsy, I take my time stepping over her to get to the coffee pot. I graze her side with my leg, knocking her off balance. Her little groan of frustration is almost better than the first sip. Cup in hand, I lean against the counter and watch her round ass wiggle as she wipes the floor. I toe a few wayward eggshells towards her, and she makes a cute little growling noise. It reminds me of when her mouth was around my dick. I’m starting to think some angry sex is on the menu and I’m hungry enough to eat multiple courses.

She’s standing at the sink scrubbing her hands almost violently. Side by side, like we are, I can smell my soap on her. I love knowing she coats her body in me. I wait until she’s done drying her hands before setting my dirty cup in the sink for her to wash. “I’ll need you to wash my sheets today.”

Her shoulders bunch, but she doesn’t look my way, just grabs the cup and punches the soapy sponge inside, twisting with unnecessary force. My fucked-up dick fills with blood, which is why her next comment doesn’t register at first. “Why don’t you have your guest do it? You two seem to be on a soiled laundry basis now.” Tina moves on to chopping bell peppers and onions. The sound of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board should be disturbing—my dick should be running for cover, but instead, it’s hard as stone, tapping at the zipper of my jeans every time she whacks off another piece of vegetable.

I lean into her space. “Come again?”

She huffs out a laugh. “I think you’ve come enough for the both of us, don’t you?” She surveys my coffee cup. “You should probably switch to Liquid I.V. to rehydrate.”

This time her words are crystal clear; I just don’t understand them. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Not that I don’t like it. As a matter of fact, I fucking love it. Feisty Tina is all kinds of hot. I begin cracking eggs in the bowl she has on the counter, whisking with extra vigor.

“Pfft. As if you don’t know.”

I turn the heat on under the omelet pan on the stove and plop some butter in it to melt. At my back, she gets busy grating the cheese. “I don’t, actually,” I say. “That’s why I asked.”

The butter sizzles and I ladle some egg in the bottom, leaving it undisturbed until the edges start to look solid. I use a spatula to push the edges into the center, letting the raw egg fill in the space.

I dab across my forehead with my forearm. Fuck, it’s getting hot in here. What’s the saying—“if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?” Yeah, I can stand it just fine, but I’d much rather be sprawled on the floor fucking her testy brains out.

She moves into my space and sprinkles some cheese on half of the pan, following that up with the peppers and onions she cooked in a separate pan. Her shoulder rubs my arm and it’s like being poked with a million tiny needles on my flesh.

I flip the omelet over on itself, sliding it on a plate she holds at the ready. We repeat the process a few more times but I barely pay attention to what we’re doing, too focused on how well we work together, brushing arms and hips as we move around the kitchen. Intentional or not, I soak the attention up like a sponge.

“Thank you,” she says when we finally finish all three omelets.

I meet her gaze when I hear the smile in her voice. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry for being so cranky.” She plays with her fork once we sit at the table. “This is all new to me. Plus, I didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t get much sleep last night either.”

“Well, eat up. I’m sure you need your protein.” She blushes again but this time it’s not from anger. As mesmerized as I am by it, again I’m clueless.

“Is that why you made me an extra omelet?”

She tilts her head, brows pinched, studying me for so long, I fight the urge to look away. “I think you should move to one of the other bedrooms,” she blurts.

The suggestion catches me off guard. Here I am feeling all kinds of ways about her, wanting nothing more than to get closer, and she wants me farther away. Typical. But I’m nothing if not pathetic where she’s concerned, so I ask, “Why’s that?”

She waves a hand in the direction of the hallway when the door to my room opens as if it’s holding all the answers.

I run a hand down my face, thinking I’m totally out of my element here. I’m so lost, I’m even tempted to phone Lucius for advice. These two seem to have the same communication skills. “I’m confused, mouse. I think I need more words to fill in the blanks.”

She opens her mouth, and I brace because she looks livid all over again. Before she can say a word, we’re interrupted.

“Good morning.”

Shoving my chair back, I rush towards the woman who just entered the kitchen, squeezing her like she just saved my life.

“Jeez,” my savior wheezes. “You’d think we didn’t just see each other last night.”

I kiss her right on the lips, earning me a groan from the man entering behind her. “Stop crushing my wife, you asshole.”