“Ready to get back to it? I already need to get you home and out of these heels.”
She leans into me. “I thought you like the heels.”
“Hmmm. Maybe we can keep the heels.”
We’re carrying on as though Gemma isn’t standing there, fuming over our behavior. Honestly, I think she’s more pissed that Vaughn called her Emma than anything else. She may not even realize it was intentional. I do, and I love it.
Without pulling my face away from Vaughn’s neck, I address Gemma again.
“It was good seeing you, Gemma. We better get back to it. We have to finish before lunch. My girl isn’t the same when she’s hungry. Vaughn’s giggle reaches my ears at the same time that she pushes her body firmly into mine, and I let her guide me back into our stall.
We don’t turn back to witness Gemma’s retreat, but I feel the animosity rolling off her in waves as the distance grows between us.
Vaughn is a...decent shot. She’ll get better. I know this because she can’t get worse. Fortunately, the venom is still pinpoint accurate and as lethal as the woman who wields it.
Chapter 16
Vaughn
Back at home, Eli suggests we cook dinner together. We haven’t eaten Wu Chows since we made ourselves sick on it when we were trying to get rid of the barrels of leftovers he saddled us with. Normally, Eli just goes into the kitchen and makes something out of nothing. I offer to help, but he likes to serve me, andwho am I to say no?But I think it’s time to flex on this God among men.
Eli’s opening cabinet doors, looking perplexed, and then closing the cabinet doors. When his perusal is complete, he claps his hands together and says, “Grocery delivery, shall we?” We both have vehicles other than the bikes, but Eli’s truck isn’t here, and my car, although it is a very normal sized car despite what Eli says, doesn’t accommodate the girth of Eli. So, delivery it is.
Eli meets the delivery girl at the door with a tip and grabs the bags from her hands. I watch as cartoon hearts float from her eyes, and her literal heart thuds against her chest in true Bugs Bunny fashion with just a single glimpse of those dimples. He really should be more careful with those things. He flashes them with no regard for the effect they have on the unsuspecting public. Meanwhile, this poor girl is about to get behind the wheel while full-on dimple drunk.
“Okay, gorgeous. Time to cook. We’re going to make Dorito Chicken. You ever had it?”
“Ah no. Can’t say that I have. What’s in Dorito Chicken apart from the obvious Dorito’s and chicken?”
“Hmmm let’s see there’s cream of mushroom, cream of chicken, Rotel, and shredded cheese. Put all that in the oven at 350 until the cheese is melted. Then, VOILÀ. Crunchy, savory goodness.”
“Hmpf. Sounds simple. I can do that.” Granted, my cooking attempts in the past have not turned out exactly as planned, but none of those instances were my fault. I swear the universe has conspired against me in the kitchen. If it’s not the doorbell ringing and pulling my focus, it’s a spice that I could swear was something different only moments before. Anyway, I’m going to rock this chicken chip dinner.
“Hmm, is that Indian food?”
Eli sounds confused. That makes two of us. “Is what Indian food?”
His glare becomes accusatory. “That smell, Vaughn. Why do I smell Indian food?”
The audacity of that accusation.We’re in the living room sitting on the sofa, and...well, technically I’m sitting on Eli’s lap, and he is sitting on the sofa. He seems to think that, since I’ve made the first move in physical contact, we need to remain physically connected at all times. Particularly, he thinks I need to be in his lap. The only time I can sit on a surface that is not him is when we’re on the bikes. Any other time, he picks me up like I’m an emotional support animal and places me in his lap. I huff every time, but you haven’t known comfort until you’ve been in this man’s lap wrapped up in these tattooed arms. It’s like he worked these leg muscles to the exact specifications needed to cradle my ass.
“How is your faulty sniffer my fault?”
Eli moves me swiftly to the empty seat beside him, and my butt cheeks feel the loss. The sofa doesn’t welcome me in the same way Eli does.
He jogs to the kitchen and quickly slings the oven door open. Dark clouds and a pungent odor permeate the room.Ah, yes. I get it now. Indian food. Little bit of char aaaaand....ah that’s the chili powder. Damn it!I thought that it would improve the overall aesthetic of the dish.So I guess that dark cloud was something more like smoke? Perfect.
“You improvised?’ Eli’s hands are on his hips, and he’s staring down at what used to be a cheese topping.
“Just a little.” I mean if it’s fifteen minutes at 350, aren’t eight minutes at 500 basically the same thing?
His lips smack, and he slowly nods his head, still not looking away from the chip-chicken brick.
“Welp, how does takeout from Cooper’s sound?”
“You’re not mad?” My voice is meek and unsure.
Eli turns toward me and quirks a grin.
