Page 40 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
I laugh loudly, and I love that it puts a hitch in that fucker’s stride outside. “You’re the one who started it,” I say. “So, we can either focus on food or focus on how we get to pretend to be madly in love.” I shrug and grin. “Your call.”
“I was cooking to be nice to you. That was my original plan. I haven’t seen you eat anything but boiled chicken breasts and broccoli since I’ve been here. Boring.”
“You saw me eat pancakes,” I tease and lift my brows as she sighs in exasperation.
“Why are you taking this so ligh
tly?” she asks.
Because it got you to kiss me.
“Taking what so lightly?”
She’s definitely sexy when she’s flustered.
“This. Jett. Being here. In your house.”
I chuckle because I’m not really quite sure what I think of it yet. But, if him being here is netting me homemade Italian food and a kiss like that? I’m all for it.
“He’s here. We’ll figure it out. But let’s get back to what matters. Food. Weren’t we talking about chicken and broccoli?” I reach behind her and take a pinch of shredded mozzarella cheese from the bowl. “And why you were cooking for me?”
She twists her lips as she puts her hands on her hips and eyes me. I know she thinks I should be pissed at Jett and his ego taking up space in my place—and fuck yes, I am—but I’m still trying to figure out how I want to handle this.
“I was trying to be nice and give you a good meal. But now”—she looks out the window and sighs—“now, it’s a peace offering.”
My stomach rumbles just as Jett raises his voice, making sure we hear his fake laugh as it floats in through the open window. I stare at him. His dark hair and studded wrist cuff. His black jeans and tattooed sleeve. And every part of me bucks the idea of him and Dylan together. I just can’t see it.
Maybe that’s because I don’t want to see it.
“He’s a smarmy fucker, isn’t he?”
She stops twisting her hands and nods her head. “That’s one way to put it.”
“What the hell did you ever see in him?” I can’t stop the comment and don’t want to. Just being in his vicinity makes me forget he’s rock-god Jett Kroger and makes me want to bruise that pretty face of his.
“I don’t know.” Dylan sighs and the sound of it has me regretting asking the question. “I’m sorry. I never intended for him to know where I was. I’ll figure out a way to get him to leave.”
“Is he always this pushy?”
“More like inconsiderate. He’s used to people doing whatever he wants. He says jump and they ask how high.”
I can’t ever imagine her bending to his whim. In fact, I can’t see them together at all, now that I think about it. I glance outside again and watch him. Medium build, cocky-as-fuck attitude, and douche-bag swagger as he walks around like he owns the place.
“How long?” I ask, and she angles her head as if she doesn’t understand. “How long is he in town for?”
“I can go stay at the hotel—” My quirked brow stops her. “In a different room than him,” she says as if she’s exasperated I’d even suggest she’d be in the same room with him, “so he doesn’t have to come around here.”
A part of me likes the idea of not having to see him again. The other part of me hates thinking of the opportunity I’ll give him with her in a hotel room nearby. With a bed.
Fucking Christ.
But if they stay here? If he stays here then I can torment the fucker by thinking Dylan and I really are together as she’s told him . . . wouldn’t that serve the fucker right for doing this to her? Nothing like wanting what you can’t have once someone else has realized its worth.
Both are bad ideas.
One is just less so.
“How many days, Dyl?” I ask the question and reject my own mental warning.
