Page 38 of Wingwoman
It all seemed a bit unnecessary, especially considering my shoulder, though sore, was merely badly bruised. Or as the doctors called it: severe contusions.
My head on the other hand—well, I still couldn’t see what was beneath the bandage, but based on the amount of blood that stained my cut shirt, I was going to guess it wasn’t pretty under there.
“What’s wrong?” Josh asked, sidling up next to me.
I shook my head, dropping my gaze from my reflection and held up the bag with my destroyed Prada shirt inside. “Nothing. Just mourning the loss of my wardrobe.”
“Hey… good thing you’ve still got the boots,” Josh said. He smiled with the joke but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“They’re no Prada, though.”
“Youreallylike Prada, don’t you?”
I sighed. “What’s not to like? It’s one of the most perfect brands. And someday I’m going to be able to shop in the actual store. Not just buy second hand.”
His cheek twitched. “Noted.” Then, taking my arm, he guided me inside to a den-like area with a huge leather sectional couch and a television so massive that it probably gave movie theater screens a run for their money.
“Here,” he said. “I’m going to situate you on the couch so you can watch TVwhile I make us some dinner.”
“You’regoing to cook?” I asked and maybe it was a bit mean how incredulous I sounded. But I couldn’t help it. Didn’t millionaire celebrities have personal chefs to cook for them? And housekeepers and butlers and God only knew who else was helping them manage the mundane day-to-day tasks?
He glared at me. “Yes, I’m going to cook. Don’t worry. My mama taught me years ago and I’m pretty damn good at it.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, playfully narrowing my eyes at him.
“Honest to God,” he said and with his index finger, he drew an X over his heart. “Is there anything you don’t like or can’t eat?”
“I’m not big into pork,” I admitted, which I was pretty sure that fact alone could get me thrown out of Texas altogether.
He looked surprised by that. “Not even bacon?”
I scrunched my nose. “Especially not bacon.”
With a sigh, he shrugged. “Okay, Wilbur is safe tonight.”
I closed my eyes. “Oh my God. Please tell me you don’tactuallyfarm and slaughter pigs on the same ranch where you save horses.”
He let out a laugh and his hand skimmed down, resting at the small of my back as he guided me gently toward the couch. The heat of his palm permeated the flimsy cotton T-shirt. Like waves of kinetic energy spiraling off of his skin and bounding toward me, pulsing and buzzing with suppressed desire. “No, of course not.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. One of my best friends has a pet pig and they are just the sweetest things. I can’t bring myself to touch the meat ever since.”
His brows crumbled in the center of his eyes. “Your friend has a pig? In New York City?”
I laughed as I lowered myself to his couch. “Sort of. She was vacationing in Pennsylvania and found the baby pig on the side of the road. After searching for the owner, the vet made an assumption that the baby pig might have fallen off a truck. So she bought a house in Jersey with a lot of land just so she could keep him. She hasn’t moved there yet because it’s being renovated. So for now, yeah, she lives in Manhattan with her pet pig.” I shrugged. “She’s a nut, but man, she loves animals. But ever since she rescued Petunia, I can’t bring myself to eat any sort of pork product.”
Cash didn’t miss a beat and hopped up on the couch with me, circling a few times before plopping down beside me. “Your friend sounds sweet,” Josh said, grabbing a blanket and draping it over my lap. “Does she work in the city?”
I slid the blanket so it partially covered Cash too. He rolled into the blanket, happily flipping onto his back and offering me his belly. “Only a couple days a week. She works from home mostly.”
He clapped his hands together, moving into the open concept kitchen. “So, no pork. Got it. Anything else you don’t like? Any vegetables off limits?”
I shook my head. I almost literally ate everything else. “Sky’s the limit.”
He moved to the fridge, pulling out various items as I gave Cash scritches on his belly. “How about chili? I make a mean chili.”
“Works for me.”
Josh got to work chopping an onion and after a few minutes, the knife slowed in his hands. “You sure you don’t want me to call anyone?”
