Page 28 of Tormented Bastard
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“The generator should kick on soon. It usually doesn’t take long.”
I nodded and avoided his stare. “That’s great. Thank you.”
Just then, the room lit up from the lamps I’d had on, and beeps from various places went off. The white noise hum of power surrounded us. We both looked around and then smiled at each other. “See? Hardly missed a beat,” he said.
“Pick up right where I left off.” I tapped my finger against the door and shifted my feet. When did we become awkward with each other?
When you ran off and didn’t speak to him for four years.
Man, I hated awkward.
Chase rocked back on his heels. “I didn’t eat lunch, and I noticed you didn’t either. Want to share an early dinner?” His gaze held mine when he said, “We need to talk about some things, Eden.”
He was right, no way around it. In business, I was good about facing things head-on. My personal life was another story. The business of my heart and the business of putting on a good show were two different things.
Even if there was a fine line in there somewhere.
I straightened my shoulders and nodded. “Sure. Give me a minute? I owe you dinner anyway.”
He shook his head with a sweet smile that made me swoon. “Consider breakfast payment. I got dinner. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
I closed the door as he turned to leave and ran into the bathroom. I finger combed my hair and changed out of my pajama pants. When was the last time I’d stayed in my pajamas all day?
A quick change into a pair of well-worn jeans and a tank top and I headed down the stairs. Music drifted to me, and the sounds of cooking in the kitchen surrounded me. When I wandered into the kitchen, Chase stood at the island in the center cutting a slab of red meat.
He nodded toward a bottle of my favorite beer on the counter. “I didn’t know if you still drank that or not, but I took my chances.”
“Thank you.” I squeezed the lime in the top and took a long sip. My insides sighed when the icy cold carbonation hit my tongue. I swallowed the smooth liquid, letting it warm me from the inside out. “You remembered.”
His gaze lifted to mine, one side of his mouth quirked up. “Of course I did. Not like it’s hard,” he said, reciting my words back to me. “Besides, when it comes to you, there’s not much I’d forget.”
He went back to slicing the meat, and I stood there tongue-tied, unable to do much more than stare at him.
“I also recall you enjoyed a good Mexican dinner. It looked like you bought the ingredients for fajitas.”
“I did.” I groaned and put a hand over my empty, and now growling, belly. “Aw, man. I’ve missed your famous steak fajitas.”
He grinned. “Still your favorite?”
I rolled my eyes in ecstasy. Not only was the man a history-making baseball player who looked like an Adonis and made me see stars every time we ended up in bed, but he could also cook that fine ass off. Especially fajitas. “Hell, yeah.” I propped an elbow on the island and dropped my chin into my hand. “What seasoning do you use to make it taste so good? I’ve tried different brands and can never find one as good.”
He shook his head as he slid the meat off the cutting board and into a bowl. “Can’t tell you that. Family recipe.”
I blew out an exaggerated breath. “Fine, don’t tell me. But is there anything I can help with?”
He chuckled and reached for an onion. “No, I’ve got it under control. Just enjoy your beer.”
I slid onto a barstool and leaned back, letting my shoulders relax after working in a less than ergonomically friendly position today. “I won’t say no to that.”
Silence surrounded us, leaving only the low murmur of music coming through the built-in speakers and the sound of the knife blade hitting the cutting board. Outside, the wind howled and the rain beat against the house. In spite of the fit Mother Nature pitched beyond the windows, a relaxed sort of peacefulness settled in my bones as I watched him work. The man was an exercise in precision movements in everything he did. “What do you mean by a family recipe?”
A smile touched his lips as he worked. “The foster family my mother lived with when she was a teenager had a grandmother that would come over, and she was Mexican. Had a special recipe she used that my mother remembered. And she taught us.”
“Really? I didn’t know your mom was in the foster system. You never mentioned it.”
He glanced up from his chopping task with a wry smile. “It’s not exactly the sexiest lead-in line with a girl.”
