Page 167 of Worthy

“It is.”

Then he’s pulling away from the door and moving out to the kitchen, saying, “Gonna go eat.”

And I’m left wondering what the fuck just happened. I must have imagined it. I’ve obviously lost my marbles. That punch to my face has rattled my brain. He did not smilewickedly. He just smiled. A nice, platonic grin.

I am just imagining the sexual tension to try and distract myself from the fact that I am homeless. I have nowhere to go after this. I will need to start looking for apartments immediately.

Toeing the box Dean set on the floor with my shoe, I shake my head. I will organize all my crap later—right now, my stomach is rumbling. I haven’t eaten since last night and I am famished. I am like a crocodile. I need to gorge.

When I move into the kitchen, I see Dean sitting on a chair at a worn table, my food laid out next to his. Is this what it will be like living here with him? Sharing meals and tables and laundry machines?

I’m not sure I can handle this. It’s so…domestic.

“You alright?” he asks as I pull the chair out and plop down onto it, our knees hitting under the table.

“Yeah, I will be. This is just par for the course. I should have known they’d do that to my stuff. They were always a little…strange.”

Dean takes a bite of his hamburger, that strong jaw working back and forth.

“You tell me if you want me to set them straight.”

“Honestly,” I say, popping a french fry into my mouth and chewing. “I just want to forget we ever met. I’ll be a happier man that way.”

He wipes at his mouth, his dark eyes meeting mine. “You ever gonna tell me what happened? Why you got in a fight?”

I shove a huge bite of burger into my mouth, nearly choking, because I’m not sure I want to divulge that. It’s too embarrassing.

So, I just chew my way sloppily through the meal, not giving myself a chance to speak. Dean’s eyes watch me, twinkling at my antics.

Yes, well, laugh it up, buddy. I’d rather choke than tell you about what I like. I’m not sure you’d accept it and that scares me more than Nick coming after me with his fists.

When I’m finally done swallowing down my food, my stomach rolls a little. I’m stuffed full and I feel kind of nauseous.

“Did you even breathe?” he asks, still working on his food. God, he eats slow.

“It’s better to just inhale,” I reply, taking a sip of my lemonade. “And since when do you eat like a gentleman?”

“I always eat like a gentleman,” he replies, and I raise my eyebrows at him.

“You do not.”

He scoffs, leaning back in his chair, his large thighs stretched out before him.

“Yeah, I fucking do.”

Well, now I just want to crawl onto his lap and straddle him. If he knew the nasty thoughts I was having about him, he’d surely kick me out. So I clamp my mouth shut. I’m keeping those to myself.

“Well, what do we do now?” I ask when Dean leans forward and takes another small bite of his sandwich.

“I’ll finish up and then we can head back to work. Unless you want to stay here?”

I chew on my bottom lip, Dean’s eyes catching on the movement.

“I can do whatever. I still have payroll to do…”

“It can wait.”

I eye him and then nod. “Can I wash my clothes?” I ask because I feel like someone trampled all over them and I need to wash the violation away.

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