Page 46 of Tough Nut to Crack

I'm not the type of man to go out looking for a ton of women to sleep with, and I also don't put myself in a position to end up in a situation that looks like a relationship, either.

I don't want her to get the wrong idea about this, but taking a step back and looking at it from an outsider's impression, I had sex with her and then shortly moved into her house. It doesn't really matter that I'm technically sleeping in the guest bedroom if she falls asleep in my arms.

I've well and truly fucked this whole thing up already, and we're only twenty-four hours into it.

"What is this?" I ask as she uses a serving spoon to dish out food on my plate.

"Pasta bake," she says as she serves herself some as well.

"It has to have a different name than that," I say, picking up my fork and moving the food around.

"If you're going to insult—"

"I'm not insulting the food, Riley. The name is the insult. Look how colorful it is. It smells delicious. Mmm," I groan after taking a bite, all the different flavors exploding on my tongue. "It's fantastic. It's the name that doesn't do it justice."

I look up at her, and I swear the smile on her face is enough to knock any man off his feet. Jesus, she really is absolutely gorgeous.

"You asked for something my grandma would make."

"She made something like this?" I ask, hesitant to speak because it interferes with shoveling food into my mouth.

"She made something similar. I added more vegetables than she put in hers, and mine is made with whole wheat pasta. There's not as much butter in mine as she'd put in hers."

"It's fantastic," I tell her around a bite of food.

My momma would twist my ear for the rudeness of speaking with food in my mouth, but Riley just dips her head as she picks up her fork.

"Thank you for buying the groceries."

"I'll buy the groceries for every meal if I come home to something like this."

I clamp my jaw closed, a nearly impossible feat when needing to chew, but I know what I just said.

Home.

This isn't my home. It's hers, and if I keep putting my foot in my mouth, I may end up right back outside facing a lumpy hotel bed.

"You made a lot," I begin.

"You're more than welcome to help yourself to more."

I don't hesitate to pick up the serving spoon and add more to my plate.

"I could eat this all week."

"That's what I normally do," she says after she swallows her first bite.

"You eat the same thing all week?"

"I've never figured out how to reduce the meals down to a serving size and still make it taste the way it's supposed to. That's what happened to the breakfast casserole I made." Her cheeks pink as if she's making a confession she had no intention of sharing with me.

"I can help you with this," I say, pointing my fork toward the second heap of food on my plate.

"You're doing a good job."

I take another bite, the flavorful goodness bursting on my tongue, chewing and swallowing before speaking again.

"I mean, I can take some of this to work. If there's a lot left over, I can share with the crew."

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