Page 17 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
“Here. Eat.” I plunked down a plate in front of her. “It’s a Mikey special.”
Jessica’s eyes darted up at me. I was used to dealing with the gaze of animals—unsure, not trusting. She had the same doe-like aura, and it immediately made me want to protect her.
But I also wanted to mark my territory. Keep away all other males and claim her for my own.
I sat down across from her and pointed to her with my fork. “I’m not gonna kill you, babe.”
She gave me a little smile. That pouty mouth.God.
With a quiet, careful movement, she took a bite of the meat. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” Elvis padded into the kitchen, and I slipped him a piece of meat, earning me another smile from Jessica. Jeez, this one. I had no idea how she’d survive in the real world. So serious. So skittish. With a chin lift, I asked, “What’s your deal?”
She bristled. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you an attorney?”
She straightened up and swallowed her bite. “I love being a lawyer. I love the reading and writing. I can really help people, you know?” I nodded. “With this new job, I’m going to be working on these major projects to get low-income people housing.”
“That’s awesome.” I took a bite of blueberry-walnut-kale salad. Superfoods for the win. “You just don’t seem like someone who’d like conflict.”
“I don’t,” she admitted. “But I like advocating for other people. It’s easier sometimes to stick up for someone else, than it is to stick up for yourself.”
Interesting. I knew a little something about that.
She told me about her old job and her new job, which sounded way better than the family law she’d been doing in L.A. I was listening, but I was also watching the way she moved. Delicately.
“I work as a vet in a clinic. I’m also a certified personal trainer.”
“So, you’re busy.”
“I live large, babe. I get too fucking depressed otherwise. I always have to be doing something.” God, wasn’t that the truth.
“It sounds kinda like chaos, though.”
“I thrive in chaos.”
She raised an eyebrow and pointedly avoided looking at the dishes stacked in the kitchen. Maybe there was some sass in there, buried under the shyness. Schmedley came up and rubbed against her legs.
Fuck, I wanted to rub against her legs.
“You like animals?”
“I love them. I never had any as a kid—we had enough trouble without adding in a pet.”
What did that mean? It seemed pretty clear to me that she came from a broken home. I wanted to ask her about it, but I knew from working with animals that you couldn’t push too far too fast. You let beings trust you, then they opened up. So all I said was, “I hear you.”
We kept eating until I watched her carefully put her fork down when she’d finished exactly half of the food on her plate. Did every woman think she couldn’t eat around a man? Or was it just this woman?
“You say you’re a personal trainer?”
“Yep.”
“Do you work out of a gym?”
“Nope.” I aimed my fork at her half-full plate. “Is that all you’re hungry for?”
“Yeah.”
