Page 56 of Stolen Dreams

My laugh mingles with his.

“Text me later?” I unlock my car, set my bag in the back, then slip behind the wheel.

“Definitely.” His grin is wide and bright as he winks. “Later, Fire Eyes.”

Gooey warmth engulfs me as I take one last look at him. “Later, Chef.” Then, I train my eyes forward.

I rush across town to the rec center, apologize profusely for my tardiness, cue up this afternoon’s movie and pass out snacks, then settle in a chair at the back of the room. Seclude myself from the group and take what feels like my first breath since leaving Ray.

Then I do something I never would’ve in the past.

For the next two hours, with my phone on mute, I shamelessly watch Ray’s cooking videos online. Heat licks my skin as my heart rattles in my chest. I all but drool as his fingers flick cream, chocolate, and clams in provocative ways. Practically melt in my seat as he tongues cocktail glasses and fruit slices. Start fanning myself when he plunges his fingers incitrus and papaya. Squeeze my thighs together as he spanks then strokes a large piece of red meat.

I don’t dare look away. Not even when my thoughts stray to more…deliciousplaces.

As for my goal of no romantic relationships… suppose that’s null and void.

But if anyone’s going to make me break my own rules, I’m glad it’s him.

SIXTEEN

RAY

Aside from workand my videos, I don’t put much effort into my physical appearance. No hair products, skincare, or modish styles. No going out of my way for the latest and greatestwhatevertrending online. No drawing extra attention to myself when I have more than plenty.

Like everyone, I have a routine—shower, brush my teeth, groom all the places, smell good, repeat. I rarely deviate from my boring schedule. And I never go out of my way to lookperfecton a day off.

Today is the exception to the rule.

As if possessed by the spirit of vanity, I have checked my appearance no less than five times in the past few minutes. Considered changing my shirt three times. Thought of styling my hair in a way I never have twice. Sniff-checked myself more times than I care to admit.

I need a damn distraction.

Slipping on sneakers, I exit my room and poke my head through Tucker’s cracked open door. He sits cross-legged on his bed with a superhero action figure in one hand and a red fire truck in the other. When he spots me, he freezes and curls his fingers to hide the fire engine in his palm.

Weird.

“Hey, bud. I’m going to do some last-minute cleaning downstairs.” I glance at my watch. “We should head out soon. Come down in about fifteen minutes?”

Tucker gives me a timid smile and nods. “Okay.”

Rather than ask what’s on his mind and where he got the fire truck—which he had a few weeks ago, I think—I tap the doorframe twice, turn on my heel, and head for the stairs. Each step, I flit through memories of buying toys for Tucker after he moved in. I offered to buy him countless trinkets, but he wanted a fraction of them. And not a single one was a fire truck.

Maybe my parents got it for him. A gift after a tough week. The way he treasures it makes that more likely.

I switch the laundry, put the clean dishes away, and double-check I don’t need anything else for dinner. As I exit the kitchen, Tucker bounds down the stairs with a toothy smile plastered on his face.

“Is it time? Is it time?” His excitement is infectious.

I ruffle his hair then smooth it out. “Yeah, bud. Let’s go.”

On the drive to RJ’s Diner, Tucker kicks his legs and talks nonstop about putt-putt, the arcade, and how he plans to win. Meanwhile, my palms slip on the leather steering wheel as I picture my dad stepping out of the diner’s kitchen to see me and Tucker with Kaya.

Seems ridiculous to be this nervous at thirty-six. But when you’ve had high expectations held over your head for years, it’s no wonder I can’t stop fidgeting.

My parents would like and approve of Kaya in a heartbeat, but a public appearance is bound to stir up questions. Ones I’m not ready to answer.

Tucker practically flies out of his seat when I park the car but waits to fling his door open. His hand in mine, he all but tugs me across the lot, talking my ear off as we head for the dinerentrance. When we round the corner of the building, my steps falter.

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