“Pfff. Give me a break. Last charge was mine. The rest were the OGs’,” she pointed out.
He didn’t seem convinced. “I’m going to start stopping by more often. You guys need supervision.”
Adrian couldn’t have agreed more, but she snorted and, ignoring them, pressed play again. They continued watching the show until both pizzas were gone.
T-Bone glanced at his watch and stood up. “I got to go. Rach, your phone.”
“Why? What?” she complained but grudgingly gave it to him.
After some typing, he returned it to her. “Tracking app is on again. I don’t like not knowing where you are. It makes me nervous.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll watch out for her,” Adrian offered, standing up himself.
For a long second, T-Bone said nothing. Then he nodded.
Rachel shook her head, annoyed. “I don’t need men watching out for me. And I’ve changed your diapers, T-Bone. Don’t forget about that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he answered with an easy smile. He hugged his sister and offered his hand to Adrian. “A pleasure to meet you.”
After he left, Rachel smiled at Adrian. “He approves of you.”
“How can you tell?”
“No one is bleeding, and no one is being arrested.”
How comforting. “Damn difficult to imagine him sexting with Wilma’s cell.” Or Rachel changing his diapers, for that matter.
“I know, right? Wilma adores him, but he doesn’t visit often. Come on, there’re only two episodes left. I need to find out how it ends.”
He had a thousand questions about her life, but she didn’t seem too forthcoming, so he didn’t ask.
The two episodes came to an end on a motherfucking cliffhanger. They looked at each other, outraged.
“Fuck my life.”
“My sentiments exactly,” she muttered, gathering the empty plates. “I’ve waited months for this season. Can’t believe it. You hungry?”
He followed her to the kitchen, carrying dishes to the sink. “I could eat. What you got?”
“Let’s see,” she mused, opening the freezer. “Wilma left some food ready, but I’m not sure what it is. I’m not the greatest of cooks. Aside from frozen pizza and cheesy nachos, I’m kind of useless.”
“I’m a great cook,” he admitted. “The best spaghetti Bolognese you ever tried.”
She turned to him. Grinned. “I’m calling your bluff, mister. What do you need? We have spaghetti, meat loaf, tomato sauce, spices. Anything else?”
He cupped her neck and brought her to him for a kiss. Then he lifted her and, without breaking contact, walked to the counter and placed her there. “I’ll need my muse by my side.” He couldn’t believe he’d spent all day with a woman without being inside of her, and still had a blast.
“That I can do,” she whispered against his lips.
He put an apron on and grabbed produce from the fridge.
“Is the muse allowed to drink? I might not be able to take in all your sexiness sober.”
Man, she was funny. He grabbed two beers and handed her one. “She’s encouraged to.”
“So you love spaghetti. Any Italian in you?”
He chopped the onions and threw them in the pan. Then the meat loaf. “Nope, not that I know of. My brother loved spaghetti. He was a picky eater, and that was the only thing I could get into him without much effort.” Plus, it was the kind of recipe he could do without meat, and Ricky wouldn’t even notice.
“Short on money?” she asked, her tone not judgmental in the slightest. At his nod, she continued, “In my house, pasta was done with canned tuna and tomato sauce, if we were extremely lucky. That is, once a month. Pasta with just tomato sauce we got three or four times a month. Normally, it was just pasta with a pinch of butter. My mother used to say it was a voluntary choice to lose weight. And that was when she bothered to cook. Most days, we got a couple of dollars and she sent us to buy junk food. Nothing is cheaper than that.”
“True.” He’d lived his fair share of years on junk food. “What I don’t understand is how your little bro managed to grow that tall.”
“Tell me about it. He grew tall, I grew sideways.”
“Nonsense.” He opened cupboards until he found the tomato sauce. “Your mother and his father…”
“They split soon after T-Bone was born. A pity. He’s a good man. What about your brother?” she asked, watching as he dumped the sauce into the pan. “Do you have a picture of him?”
He tried not to, but he went serious. Reminiscing about Ricky always played tricks with his mood. “Not with me, no. I have some pics, but I only kept the ones before the drugs. We were always strapped for cash, so pictures were never a priority.” His grandfather probably had some from when they were small. “When did you move to Alden?” he asked, not wanting to talk about his past.
“Ten years ago. I needed a change. I don’t do well in the city. I… lose myself. Here, I like who I am; I’m grounded.”
“I like who you are too,” he said, filling a pot with water and putting it on the burner farthest from her. “What did your brother mean when he asked if you were returning to your old ways?”
She averted her gaze, looking uncomfortable. “I was quite unruly in my teenage years. But I’ve changed. I’m a model citizen now.”
“Ha. People don’t change, Grease Barbie. They just get better at hiding shit.” He lowered the heat under the pan and covered the sauce.
“Right. Are we done cooking?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.
It looked like neither of them liked talking about their past. Fine, there was other stuff to do.
He took the apron off, planted his palms on either side of her, and wedged between her legs. “The sauce needs to simmer for a while, and we’re most definitely not done.”
A mischievous smile broke over her face. She was on to him. “Really?” She pulled off his shirt and encircled his neck with her hands.
“You weren’t this handsy on the couch,” he pointed out.
Rachel cocked her head and studied him for a long second. “Were you expecting me to be? Wait—you thought I wanted to watch TV as a pretense for cuddling?” She cupped his face, her sexy pout making him even harder. “My poor baby. I don’t care much for pretenses. Too exhausting.”
She was totally made for him. “Who said anything about cuddling?”
“Exactly my thoughts, Boomer,” she said, reaching down and palming his cock.
“I’ve been dying to fuck you the whole day. You still sore?” She shook her head, lifting her arms as he got rid of her T-shirt. “That’s my girl.” He kissed her softly and then moved to her sweet boobs, pinching her nipples and sucking them. “Hold on to me,” he whispered, lifting her and pulling her shorts down. She was now sitting on the counter naked but for cotton panties, which were developing a wet spot. Sexier than any lingerie he’d ever seen.
She reached inside his tenting boxers, grabbed his cock, and squeezed it. “I love foreplay, but if I’m being honest, I want you inside of me right now. I want it rough and hard and at this very instant.”