He copied my stance, and I might have been a little distracted by the way his biceps bulged and the fact that he, once again, hadleft his jeans undone, showing off that V and the fact that he was going commando underneath.
Raylan cleared his throat, snapping me out of my ogling and forcing my gaze to his face. He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, causing me to roll my eyes.
“I gave you one of my shirts instead, so you can just toss that ratty old one.”
I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head to the side, studying him closely. My gut was telling me there was more to it. “But Ilikethe ratty old one.”
“Well, no offense to whatever dumbass ex you got that from, but I’m pretty sure mine’s better.”
And there it was. I had to clamp down on the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking. He wasjealous. It probably said something that I liked the fact he was jealous, but I didn’t have it in me to care.
“It’s not from an ex.” I stepped up to him, placing my hands on his bare chest. “The sweater was my dad’s. But it’s really cute that you’re jealous.”
He wrapped his arms around me, locking his hands together at the small of my back. “I’m not going to deny it if that’s what you’re expecting. Every time I saw you in that thing, I wanted to rip it the hell off you and burn it.” He leaned down, brushing his nose against mine as he lowered his voice. “Seeing you in another man’s clothes drove me crazy. I hated it. Even if it was your dad’s.”
I couldn’t stop the ridiculously giddy smile from curling my lips upward. “Is that your way of asking me to wear your shirt instead?”
He pecked my lips, his own forming a pleased grin. “Chaos, I’d be honored if you’d wear my shirt. Pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top.”
I threw my head back on a laugh, and when I finally looked back at him, his expression was so tender, the butterflies in my tummy sprang to life, taking flight.
My stomach broke the moment with another loud rumble.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get some food in you before your stomach starts gnawing on your backbone.
I grabbed the flannel off the hook and slipped it on over my lounge clothes. It was warm and soft and perfectly snuggly. And I instantly loved it even more than the cardigan because it smelled just like Raylan.
“Damn it, Daisy!” I snapped as soon as I rounded the corner into the living room and spotted that damn mini-cow spooning with Ziggy in his dog bed.
Raylan snorted out a laugh from behind me. “Might as well let her be.”
There was really no point in trying to argue with a freaking cow, so I rolled my eyes and continued into the kitchen. I pulled the fridge door open and stared inside, willing groceries to appear out of thin air. I’d been so wrapped up in Raylan the past couple of weeks, wanting to spend all my free time with him, I’d let everything else slip to the wayside. I was behind on errands, my pantry and refrigerator were nearly bare, and I hadn’t seen or talked to any of my friends in way too long.
I tried not to think about what it meant, that I was voluntarily ignoring almost everyone who was important to me in order to hole myself up at home with my secret... boyfriend. If that was even what I could consider him. Taking this whole thing one day at a time made it difficult for me to feel out what we were, and I was too scared of what might happen if I pushed him for an answer to that. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t healthy and I was setting myself up for some serious heartbreak in the future if it all imploded, but I couldn’t make myself stop.
There was a little voice inside my head telling me if Raylan and I were arealcouple, we could have simply jumped in his truck and headed into town to have dinner at the diner or something, but that wasn’t an option for us. I knew that even bringing something like that up to Raylan would be enough to make the color drain from his face and that panicked, holy-shit-this-just-got-real expression would take over.
“Well,” I started, speaking into the fridge as my grip on the handle turned white-knuckled, “it won’t be a five-star meal or anything, but I have the stuff for scrambled eggs and bacon. How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”
I felt him come up behind me, his arms wrapping around my chest from behind, and all the pressure that had been building in my chest released, like a valve being twisted open. Once again, I pushed all my uncertainty and discomfort away so I could bask in the time I had with the man that I was already feeling way too much for. All I could do was hope for the best.
“Breakfast for any meal is always perfect. What can I do to help?”
I let out a snort and cast a look at him over my shoulder. “You can help by sitting over there,” I pointed to one of the two stools tucked against the small kitchen island, “and not touching anything. You’re hopeless in the kitchen.”
He snickered, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath my ear before letting me go and heading for his stool. “I’ll have you know I’m not totally worthless. Gypsy wouldn’t let any of us move out until she was confident we wouldn’t starve to death. She made sure to at least teach us the basics.”
I smiled as I cracked eggs into a bowl and started whisking in cheese and seasoning, adding a splash of milk to make them nice and fluffy. “She’s a great sister.”
“She’s the best.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter and clasping his hands together in front of him. “We were all really lucky to have her.”
I poured the contents of the bowl over the butter simmering in the bottom of the heated pan. Keeping my back to him, I focused harder than necessary on what I was cooking. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your parents,” I said, hoping I sounded casual and not like I was dying of curiosity, which I totally was.
“Why would I?” At the hardness in his tone, I turned to look at him over my shoulder. His stance was still cool and calm, but I could see the tension building inside of him by the way his lips were drawn in to a thin, tight line and his hands were clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. “Those pieces of shit bailed out on us when I was only seven years old. Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to talk about.”
I hated that I’d silently hoped he would open up to me, talk about his childhood because he knew he was safe with me. But what I hated even more was the disappointment I felt that he didn’t. I turned back to the stove so he wouldn’t be able to read my expression, lifting my shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I thought that talking about them might lessen some of the weight on your shoulders.”
“There’s no reason to talk about it because there’s no weight on my shoulders,” he said, the words sounding clipped and harsh. His tone basically refuted everything he’d just said.
