Page 19 of Pretend You Love Me
“Why?” I can’t get any more words out. I can’t begin to wrap my brain around this.
He throws back a glass of water to wash down the pills, and then slams the glass down on the counter. His eyes are all fire when they meet mine.
“Did you want to file a report with Hawk?”he asks.
“No.”
“Did you have another plan up your sleeve?”
“No.”
“You’re welcome, cupcake.”
“I don’t need you rescuing me,” I shout.
“Looks like you do, Ginger.”
Dammit. He’s right. He’s spent all day rescuing me. I’m searching my brain for some sort of snappy reply, but it’s empty.
After an intense stare off, he sighs and says. “Want a tour?”
I open my mouth to start back into the fight and then realize it’s useless. The truth is being his fake girlfriend will probably help me. This isn’t the way I would have planned it but crashing into town already put me in the center of the radar. Having this cover will ease suspicions about who I am and what I'm doing here.
It’s a pretty brilliant plan the more I think about it. Not that I’m going to congratulate Mr. Angry Eyes.
“Sure,” I say.
“This is the kitchen,” he says.
“Really? Is that what you call it?”
He completely ignores me and says, “I use this kitchen. There’s not much of a kitchen in the cabin. I’ll try to stay out of your hair other than this space.”
I nod. Fair enough. It’s his place. He can do what he wants.
“I have some food. Wasn’t planning for a visitor, so I don’t have much. If you make a list, I’ll get whatever you need.”
“I can get my own food.”
He glares at me.
“Do you want me to cook?” I ask.
His expression changes - just a hint of surprise.
I straighten my back before I continue. “Since, you know, I’m not paying you any rent. Could I cook or clean or something?”
“I have a cleaning crew that comes each week.” His voice is gruff like that suggestion rubs him the wrong way.
“Okay. What about cooking?”I ask.
“Are you a good cook?”
“I guess you’ll find out,” I say.
“I guess I will.” He’s looking at me again like I’m a puzzle to solve. It’s making my insides feel scrambled, and I don’t like it one bit. I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
“So, you want me to cook?”
