Page 48 of No More Billionaires

I wrenched my eyes away from Larson’s midsection and stared into the bubbling pot as if it were a crystal ball depicting my entire future.

“I’m not sure how good this will taste, but it’s hot, at least.”

Larson peered over my shoulder, standing entirely too close to me, considering he was half-naked.

“Looks good. Smells delicious.”

He’d just described himself perfectly. I’d never imagined the combination of Ivory soap and warm male skin could be so alluring.

Lifting the pot, I turned away from him, walking quickly toward the kitchen counter where I’d placed two bowls. I carried the bowls to the table and rummaged through the silverware drawer for spoons.

Larson came to the table and sat opposite me. “God, I’m starved. I’m afraid the Jr. Barn-y Burger didn’t quite satisfy me.”

He brought a steaming spoonful of food to his mouth. “Thanks for making this. I have to admit I’m a little disappointed it’s not Spam, though.”

I chewed and swallowed my own food—which wasn’t half-bad actually—I was starving as well.

“Don’t give up hope just yet. I have a feeling you’re going to love the breakfast menu.”

Larson laughed and dug into his bowl again. Within minutes, he was spooning more food out of the pot.

“Want seconds?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I just started on firsts. Besides, you’re a growing boy—you need to eat more than I do—finish it all.”

My phone rang, and I pulled it from my pocket. Looking down at the screen, I swiped it to decline the call, then started texting. I glanced up at Larson, rolling my eyes.

“My mom. I’m not answering because I want to conserve whatever charge it has left for tomorrow. I’m texting her to tell her not to worry. I already texted Deb. Do you need to tell somebody where you are?”

I offered the phone to him and he took it, but he didn’t use it—he just stared at the screensaver, a picture of me and Heidi and Mara at Mara’s wedding reception.

We were hugging, smiling, a little tipsy… and completely glammed up.

Larson’s brows raised, and he gave a low whistle. “Nice picture.”

I snatched the phone back from him. “If you don’t need to contact someone, I’m going to turn it off—save the power.”

He nodded. “Right.”

Taking another bite of his dinner, he studied me silently as he chewed. His stare went on so long I became self-conscious.

“What?”

“That thing you said about your mom—about the eating—was it really true?”

I dropped my gaze to my bowl. Why had I ever mentioned it? I had no desire to discuss my mother (and her philosophy on dating) with Larson.

I didn’t want him to know anything about how I used to look and why, about my past as a gold-digger-in-training.

“I was just kidding,” I lied. I pushed away from the table. “I guess I’ll go have a cold shower now.”

“Wait—you really don’t want to do that. I promise you, it’s miserable. You’re fine. You don’t need one.”

“No, I’m all dusty, too. And we’re going to have to share the bed. I don’t want to give you an asthma attack.”

“Oh.” Larson blinked. Twice. “Okay, then. Thanks. Hey—is there a big pot in the cabinet?”

“I think I saw one, maybe more down there.”

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