Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 78142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“No, I’m fine.” He glances toward the fridge and frowns. “I’ll have a sandwich or something.”
“I’m just making some pasta and sauce. It’s no trouble.”
He sits down at the counter, setting the paper he’s carrying down in front of him. “Yeah, okay. If it’s no trouble.”
“What’s that?” I gesture to the papers.
“Some sheet music. I stumbled upon this music store while I was out walking. Over on the edge of town.”
“That must be Antonio’s store.”
“What?” he says.
“I told you this. The guy I met last night, he’s the owner of a music store on the edge of town. It must be the same one you found.”
“Oh, right. I left my name and number with the girl working the cash register,” he says. “But I don’t expect anything to come of it.”
I grab my phone. “I can call Antonio. Or Teddy. They’re cousins.”
“No.” He crosses his arms. “I don’t want anyone getting a job for me. If they want to talk to me, they will.”
“All right.” I shake my head. “But I’m happy to help if you need it.”
He looks down at the music. “You’re already doing enough, letting me stay here.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I say nothing and turn back to the stove.
I feel Dragon’s eyes on me as I heat up a jar of spaghetti sauce on the stove and boil water for the pasta.
I slice up some mushrooms for the sauce.
It’ll be a veggie sauce tonight since I didn’t get any ground beef out of the freezer. Guess I’ve been preoccupied about the new job.
Not to mention all the sex with the man I’m now cooking dinner for.
I look up. Dragon is getting up from the counter.
I hope he likes mushrooms. I should have asked before I added them. I love a good mushroom sauce. It’s as savory as meat with a lot fewer calories.
Plus, I ate more pizza than I should have last night. Luckily the excess cheese didn’t bother me much, but unlike my sister, Brianna, I have to watch my weight. And yeah, that pisses me off.
Once everything’s ready, I grab a couple of plates and place a hearty portion of pasta on one for Dragon, cover it with sauce, and add a few slices of Italian bread from the store. He’s in the living area, looking at the music he bought.
“It’s ready,” I say. I set it on my small kitchen table.
Then I plate my own dinner, fill two glasses of water, and bring them all over to the table.
Dragon takes a seat in front of his plate. “Looks great.”
Before I sit down, “I forgot napkins. Just a minute.” I head back in the kitchen, grab the napkins out of their holder, and bring a few back to the table. I hand one to him. “Here you go.”
He nods and places the napkin on his lap.
Then he twirls the spaghetti onto his fork like a champ.
I’m a little mesmerized by it.
I never mastered that. I cut my spaghetti and eat it with a fork.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask after he swallows.
“Do what?”
“Twirl your spaghetti on a fork like that.”
He thinks for a minute. “My mother. She’s Italian.” He frowns. “Or was Italian. I don’t know if she’s alive or not.”
I nearly drop my jaw. Did he just open up to me about something?
He looks back down at his plate. Apparently he’s done talking.
“So your parents…”
“I don’t talk about my parents,” he says to his plate.
“Oh, okay,” I say. “Sorry.”
Then I berate myself internally. What am I sorry for? He brought it up.
“I could never master it. My aunt Marjorie’s a chef, and she does a mean Italian dinner. She’s tried to show me time and time again since I was a little kid how to do it. But every time I tried, I either got a bunch of spaghetti strands hanging down, or the amount on my fork would be way too big to fit into my mouth.”
Dragon doesn’t respond. Just twirls more spaghetti on his fork and brings it to his lips.
God, those lips…
He does have gorgeous lips.
“I’m glad you like mushrooms,” I say.
“Yeah.” He twirls another forkful of spaghetti.
Now I’m curious. Curious about his Italian mother. Curious about his parents. About his childhood. About all those things that he never talks about.
About that tattoo on the back of his thigh.
About why he gave money to a freaking hooker.
I get feeling sorry for the woman. But he had to know exactly where that money would end up. It wasn’t going to help her. It was going to help her pimp.
But Dragon is not going to answer any of my questions.
He’s simply going to live in my house, eat my food, apparently, and keep to himself.
Unless we’re fucking like bunnies.
Though I doubt that will happen again.