His hair was still slightly damp, and he wore a ragged t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. They allowed me to see one bare leg and foot, and where the other one should have been was a metal leg, designed not to look realistic, but for function.
What had happened to him? Last night, I hadn’t guessed he was missing a leg. I realized I knew very little about my mysterious host except that he had a sense of honor, he was sexy as fuck, and he was good at poker. That was it. Maybe Ishouldhave tried to stay awake and snoop last night.
“Coffee’s in the pot, if you’re done staring,” he suddenly announced wryly without turning. How had he known I was there? “I made a double batch after my run this morning.”
My brows rose as I crossed to pour myself a cup. “This smells delicious.”
“From the local coffee shop, Beach Beans. Their specialty blend.”
I was trying desperately to pretend an ease I didn’t feel. “Oh yeah, what’s it called? Maybe I’ll pick some up before I head home.” Like I could affordspecialty blends.
The way Garrak huffed slightly in what might’ve been amusement told me he didn’t buy my attempts. “Orcin’ Around. It’s my favorite.”
“So…” I twisted the cup in both hands, striving to sound nonchalant. “You…went out? Running?”
“Yeah.” Dark, amused eyes flicked my way. “Difficult to run in here. I mean, I was going to put in a treadmill when the heat starts really getting oppressive this summer, but for now it’d just be in circles, and the Murdicos downstairs already complain about the way I clomp around.”
I found myself smiling at that image. “Running outside makes more sense, you’re right. I just meant…” I sipped my coffee, not sure how to finish that thought.
He flipped the bacon he was monitoring, and shifted so his hip was against the counter, opening his stance to include me. “You meant what?”
My gaze locked on the black liquid in my mug, I shrugged. “You left me alone here while you went running?”
“You were safe here, sweetheart.”
What? My eyes jerked up to see his sympathetic expression. That’s what he thought I’d meant?
I cleared my throat. “I meant…you trusted me? Here alone? With your stuff?”
The way he huffed slightly out his nose before turning back to the bacon told me he understood. “You think I’m naïve? Should I not have trusted you?”
“I wouldn’t have,” I whispered to my cup of specialty blend.
“Have you given me a reason not to trust you, Stevie? Have you lied to me?”
I swallowed, the coffee suddenly not sitting well in my stomach. I’d lied to him about my last name. I hadn’t exactly lied about who Trevor Hendricks was to me, but I hadn’t told the truth about him. I hadn’t told the truth about alotof things, had I?
But why should I? This guy, as hot as he might be, was just a means to an end, right? A way to avoid a world of pain. Why did I suddenly feel so guilty about lying to him?
Because his praise makes you feel good.
Yeah.
I sighed and lowered the coffee.
Yeah, I didn’twantto disappoint Garrak, and what the shit wasthat?
With a grunt, or possibly a hum of understanding, Garrak slid the bacon onto a napkin-lined plate, then reached for the egg carton. As he began to crack them into the same pan—four, six,eighteggs?—he jerked his chin toward the fridge.
“If you want orange juice instead, it’s in there. Can you take the bacon to the table?”
I guess the fact I hadn’t answered his question about lying was answer enough, huh? With a stifled sigh, I did as he asked, telling myself I should be ridiculously grateful he’d given me a place to stay and was feeding me without expecting anything in return.
Look, when you come from the kind of world I do, trading a blowjob for a warm place to stay isn’t that weird, okay? Don’t get me wrong: I wasn’t exactlyproudof some of the shit I’d done in my past. And having mygoddamn fathervolunteer me for such a thing was a first, yeah.
It meant that I was definitely a jumble of emotions yet again as I sat down to breakfast. For what Garrak had done for me, another guy would have expected way more than a blowjob. And I’d shown up on his doorstep for the express purpose of…you know.
But he’d turned me down. He’d kissed me, he’d pressed a huge erection against me, and then he’d pushed me away. What the hell was I supposed to think? To feel?
