Page 76 of Chains
A new head and face without any swelling or bruises would be good. Oh… and punching Bret in the face a few times would be a great bonus.“Not really. Thanks for asking.”
“If you do, let me know. Now go back to bed and get better,” Sadie said.
“Thanks, we’ll talk soon.”
Autumn dropped the phone back on the nightstand and inhaled. The delicious aromas filled her nostrils, making her stomach growl loudly. Pushing up slowly from the bed, she rubbed her good eye and shuffled to the bathroom.
When Autumn came downstairs, she heard the clatter of pans in the kitchen and paused to listen, then smiled broadly.He can cook too.Memories of the night before flickered through her mind, making her heart beat fast. She’d never experienced anything in bed like she had with Chains, but their time together was about so much more. Apprehension crept through her.What does this all mean? Was last night a hookup or more? Do I want more?Yes, she did. Chains did something to her; it was like they were made for each other. Autumn had never felt as strong of a connection with any of the men in her life.That has to mean something. And I felt it from the first day. I’m not imagining this.But she had no idea howhefelt. For all she knew, the night before was just a fun time and nothing more. After all, he was a biker—an outlaw one, to be exact, and they lived a very different lifestyle from the average person.
Again her stomach growled and gnawed, prompting Autumn to go into the kitchen. Chains stood at the stove, flipping something in a frying pan, his muscular back turned to her. Cinder slipped from the mud room door, scurried around Autumn’s feet, and purred.
“Hey, sweetie,” Autumn whispered as she scratched Cinder under the chin.
Chains turned and grinned at her, his light brown eyes lingered on the neckline of her pistachio-colored knit top before they skimmed over her breasts, down her hips, then back up to her face. Autumn’s muscles twitched and she covered her nervousness by rearranging the napkins in the holder on the granite island.
“How’re you feeling?” he turned his back and flipped what looked like tortillas onto a large plate, then covered them with aluminum foil.
“Better. What’re you making? It smells delicious.”
Chains looked over his shoulder and winked. “I hope you’re hungry—I got carried away. We’re having huevos rancheros, but I put bacon in them instead of chorizo ’cause I wasn’t sure if you liked it or not.”
“I like chorizo.”
“Good to know for next time.” He turned back to the stove.
So there’s going to be a next time.She suppressed a giggle, then shook her head: she was acting just like a teenager. But there was this vibe in the air between them she couldn’t quite put into words. It was electric and made her feel like high school all over again. Whenever she thought of Chains or if he was near, her stomach constantly fluttered. It was insane, thrilling, and scary all at the same time.
“Don’t tell me you made homemade tortillas,” she said, pushing the napkins away.
“I won’t,” he quipped.
“But you did,” she said.
He turned around with a platter in one hand filled with sunny-side-up eggs. “Make up your mind, baby. Do you wanna know or not?” There was a glint of humor in those mesmerizing eyes.
“Smartass,” she said, pulling out a chair at the table.
Soon they were both eating huevos rancheros with avocado, bacon, cilantro, and chopped tomatoes. Autumn dipped a tortilla into the runny yoke, and an explosion of flavor burst in her mouth.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” she asked before taking a drink from her coffee mug.
“Supermom.” He chuckled. “There was no fuckin’ way I didn’t pick up something from her. I was always in the kitchen trying to stay outta my old man’s way. I learned to make the corn tortillas from myabuela—grandmother—when we lived in New Mexico. Her home was a safe house when my old man was having a bad day and wanted to use me to relieve his frustrations. Abuelita would have none of that shit, so I spent a lot of time with her. She taught me to make homemade tamales—hers were the best in the world. She’d always make them for special occasions, like Christmas… or my birthday.” Chains took a sip of coffee. “Fuck, I haven’t thought about her in years.”
“Bret never talked about her or living in New Mexico. Your mother told me she was raised there and that the family moved to Alina because your dad got a better job, but she didn’t say too much about growing up there, or her Mexican heritage. All Bret ever said was that he wanted me to learn how to make homemade tortillas from your mother, but now you’re saying your… what did you call your grandmother?”
“A-buel-ita,” he said.
“Your abuelita’s tortillas were better.”
“My mom learned from her mom, but… yeah, my abuelita’s fuckin’ rocked. I’m not surprised my asshole brother never said anything about our Mexican half. As I told you, he was close to my old man, and the old man wasn’t fond of the Mexican culture so he slowly extinguished it from our lives, especially when we moved to Colorado. Bret never gave a shit about our heritage and neither did my sisters, but it’s always been a part of me”—he tapped a fist on the left side of his chest—“in here. My abuelita and I were real tight.”
Sadness for the little boy he once was flooded through her, and Autumn looked down and began tracing geometric patterns with the fork on her empty plate.
“So, how do you like it?” he asked.
Blinking rapidly without raising her eyes, she replied, “It’s very good. You’ve put me to shame.”
Chains laughed. “There’s no shame in not knowing something. If a person’s interested, he’ll learn, if not, then he won’t. Either way, that’s cool.”
