Would you like her half as much if she did?
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” she replied with a yawn, appearing bored with him and his tyranny. “I’m going to go have a quick shower.” She glanced at him, mischieftwinkling in those gorgeous blue eyes. “That is, if I’mallowed.”
He simply grunted again, turned his back and walked into the kitchen.
“Missed you too, baby,” she called back, her voice already down the hall. “So happy to be home.”
Unable to throw anything or pound the wall, Brock gritted his teeth and turned on the wok, angry, but why?
Because you care about her. Worry about her, and she’s turning you into a sap with feelings.
“I’m not a fucking sap,” he grumbled around fifteen minutes later as he scooped rice out of the rice cooker onto two plates.
“Who said you were a sap?”
Her voice made him practically jump out of his skin, though thankfully he was able to hide his surprise and simply shrugged.
“Hmm?” she asked, coming up behind him and resting her hand on his back for a moment. “Who said you were a sap?”
His entire body responded on instinct to her presence, her scent, her touch. His balls tightened and his dick lurched as heat flooded his veins.
“Nobody.”
She leaned over the wok and grabbed a piece of broccoli, popping it into her mouth with a pleased hum. “All right then, Mr. CrankyPants.”
He thrust a plate into her hands. “Go eat.”
She saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
Moments later, they were sitting across from each other at the dinner table—for some reason, Brock had decided that they were going to eat dinner at the table, rather than in front of the television—and he felt his foul mood slowly disappear with each bite. And that’s when it hit him: He’d been so busy all day, cleaning and moving Krista’s shit into his room, that he hadn’t eaten. Had he even had breakfast? He didn’t think so. He was “hangry,” as his mother called it.
Son of a bitch.
Now he just felt like an ass.
Wanting to make amends and not ruin his chances of getting laid, or having Krista reconsider having moved into his room, he decided he needed to make peace. He needed to give her something she wanted, and that was a bit of communication and genuine interest.
Taking a sip of his beer and clearing his throat, he asked, “So how’d your parents take the news about the baby?”
But she didn’t respond. Instead, she quickly shoved more food into her face, her cheeks puffy like a chipmunk.
“Krista … ”
Slowly, she swallowed, and with the same speed lifted her eyes to his. “I, uh … I didn’t tell them.”
What the hell?
“Why not? I heard you talking to them on the phone yesterday, but then it was dinnertime and I didn’t get a chance to ask you.”
Her lips twisted, and she dropped her gaze back down to the wood grain of the table. “Because I’m just not ready, okay?”
“You have to tell them.”
Was she ashamed? Embarrassed? Embarrassed of him?
Her head snapped up, and she glared at him. “I don’thaveto do anything. They’remyparents, and I’ll tell them when I’m good and ready. You have no idea what our relationship is like. How they’re going to take the news. So just back off.”
Wow! Where’d the sudden bitch switch come from? Hormones? He certainly hoped so. She’s been so happy, albeit tired when she got home, this was like night and day.
