He glanced at her again and raised his brows."Stroganoff."
She stared blankly.
Her mom had never cooked anything that required more than a can opener or a microwave.Lydia grew up on tuna sandwiches, gas-station burritos, and whatever takeout menu had the cheapest delivery fee.Stroganoff might as well have been a foreign language because she had no idea what he was making.It certainly wasn't something the restaurant served at the place where she worked.
Seeing her hesitation, Baddy said, "I'll mix it.It tastes better that way."
He said it casually, but something about the confidence in his voice made her chest tighten.He moved around the kitchen as if he belonged there.Of course, it was his house, but she'd never seen a man cooking homemade food.He drained the noodles, stirred the sauce, and seasoned something with a flick of his wrist and a sip from the tip of the wooden spoon.
He was good at cooking.
Domestic in a way she'd never seen, outside of Sam, the chef at the diner who served chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn all day long.
She'd worked in the restaurant for two years, and while she could serve six plates at a time, she had no idea how to put the food on display.
She ducked her head quickly, staring at the floorboards so she wouldn't accidentally watch him.She didn't want to see him like that.Didn't want to feel anything warm or soft or grateful.
He wasn't her friend.
He wasn't her savior.
He was the man who bought her.
He was way older than her.She shivered.Probably old enough to have a kid almost her age.
Her throat tightened, and she wrapped her arms around herself, sleeves hanging past her hands.She patted the fabric, making sure the scissors stayed tucked against her forearm.
She needed to eat to keep her strength and figure out how to get back to Sonny's apartment to grab her things before he threw everything away or found her hidden stash of money.
But for now, all she could do was sit there in someone else's clothes, in someone else's house, while a man she didn't understand cooked her a meal she'd never tasted before.
And pretend she wasn't terrified of what came next
Chapter 7
Baddy dug into thestroganoff like a man who hadn't eaten in a week.Riding on club business always tore through his energy.The hours on the road and constant tension in his shoulders, along with the persistent hum of adrenaline, kept him on high alert.By the time he sat down at the small kitchen table, he was starving.
