Page 23 of The Outsider

She jerked awake, tangled in all the bedclothes. And then she remembered.

Daughtry.

The King family. They had brought her in. They’d fed her. He’d let her sleep in his bed.

He had an amazing chest.

He had a drawer full of condoms.

Some of that information wasn’t useful, so she set about deleting it from her brain. She had overslept. For sure. There was no way he was still around.

She slipped out from beneath the covers and realized that she was going to have to get her clothes out of the dryer. Cautiously, she opened up the bedroom door, and crept out into the hall.

She smelled bacon. She moved slowly down the hall, making her way toward the kitchen. And there he was. Standing with his back to her at the stove. He was wearing a black T-shirt that stretched tight over hismuscles, and a pair of dark denim jeans that cupped his ass like a pair of hands. His feet were bare. Something about that made her heart stutter.

“Morning,” he said.

He reached out to his left and picked up the mug. He didn’t turn to face her as she assumed he took a sip of the coffee.

“You’re still here,” she said.

“Yeah. I figured I’d give my shift a miss today. Got it covered.”

“Why?”

“I thought it was more important to spend some time showing you around. I didn’t want to turn you loose with my family just yet.”

“But you could.”

“It’s true. I could. I want to have a realistic talk with you.”

“Can I have bacon first?”

Then he did turn, and her heart jumped hard against the front of her breastbone. He was the kind of stunning men never were. Not to her. That sculpted jaw, covered in dark stubble, the strong column of his throat. His broad shoulders. His thick, muscular arms and well-defined forearms.

And he was just... a human man. Standing in the kitchen, making breakfast. He wasn’t a superhero off saving the world. And when he wasn’t in his police uniform, she couldn’t feel like he was an adversary. Well. She imagined she could if she tried really hard. She reached down deep and searched for a bit of resentment she might be able to pull up.

But she didn’t want to find any, actually.

On the stove there was a plate of bacon, and a heap of scrambled eggs in a pan. There were biscuits. Hash browns. And pancakes. And she was starving.

“I haven’t seen this much food since... Well, since last night. But before that, it was a long damned time.”

“Eat,” he said. “Because you’re not going to be able to get any work done as long as you’re that bony.”

She scowled.

“Don’t body-shame me,” she said, moving forward and grabbing hold of the piece of the bacon and taking a bite off the crisp end. She could’ve cried. Except she was Bix Carpenter, and she didn’t cry.

“I’m notbody-shamingyou. It’s obvious that you want to have a bit more meat on your bones than you do. Are you going to tell me you got this thin on purpose?”

“No,” she said. “But I don’t see the point whining about it. Sometimes in life you have extra food. And sometimes you don’t have any. There’s no point feeling sorry for yourself over it. I don’t care if I’m skinny. I can still do things when I need to do them. I can still work for you. And now, I got a lot of fuel available to me. So, I’ll do my best to top up now.”

“All right. I’ve heard a lot of philosophy from you. Why don’t you fill your plate and have a seat at the table, and we’ll have a discussion about how this is going to work.”

He handed her a plate, and she started piling the food high.

“Coffee?”

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