Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“You look beautiful,” he greeted, leaning down to give me a kiss. “Take off the coat so I can see the dress.”
“It’s just a dress,” I said with a little laugh, a bit nervous that I’d somehow overinflated it when we’d talked earlier. I took off my coat and set it on the edge of the couch. Before I turned back around, Bas was at my back, his hands running over the curve of my ass.
“I like this,” he whispered in my ear.
“The front’s even better,” I joked.
“Let me see.”
I turned toward him and felt my belly flip again as his eyes flared, tracing down my body and then up again.
“I feel like shit for makin’ you dinner here,” he said, his eyes coming back to mine. “Shoulda taken you out and shown you off.”
“Oh, this isn’t a going-out dress,” I assured him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “This is a dinner-at-home dress.”
“Didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“There is.” I nodded, trying to hold back a smile. “A dinner-at-home dress doesn’t have anything under it.”
His smile lit up the entire room. Bringing his face close to mine, he started bunching the dress up my thighs inch by inch until he could slide his palms against bare skin. One hand stayed on my hip while the other slid over my ass, the tips of his fingers sliding down the center.
“See? Nothing under it.”
Bas’s eyes fell closed as he groaned. “Dinner.” He let me go slowly, kissing the end of my nose as my dress fell back down to my knees.
“What did you make?” I asked as I followed him over to the kitchen area.
“I bought steaks,” he said with a huff. “But when I got home, the smoker wouldn’t heat up.”
“Oh no.”
“So, I improvised,” he continued. “Taco tater tot casserole.”
“Interesting choice.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he warned, offering me a beer. “It was my favorite growin’ up, so I always have the ingredients in the freezer. We’ve got four minutes left on the timer.”
“Thanks,” I said, reaching over to get a bottle opener magnet off the fridge. “I’ll reserve judgment.”
“It’s gonna blow your mind,” he replied, leaning against the counter.
I looked around the kitchen. When I was in there that morning getting dressed, it hadn’t been messy or anything, but since then he’d washed the few dishes in the sink and wiped down the counters. I could still smell whatever lemon-scented cleaner he’d used.
“I like your apartment, by the way.”
“It’s dry and warm,” he joked. “Not exactly Titus’s place, but at least I don’t have a four-year-old pounding on my bedroom door at six in the morning because she’s thirsty.”
“Do you miss living with them?”
“I miss seein’ the kids every day,” he replied, almost sheepishly. “But havin’ the place to myself is nice. Quiet.”
“I bet they miss you, too.”
“Yeah, I need to go over there for dinner soon,” he said as the timer went off and he turned to pull the pan out of the oven. “The secret to makin’ the tater tot casserole is to cook it in a cast iron. I’ve cooked it in a pan and then baked it in a glass dish—garbage.”
“You’re very serious about this casserole,” I teased.
“It’s—you have a meal that you love, right? Just reminds you of home?”
“My mom’s potato soup.”
Taking his time, he scooped out two portions and put them in bowls, making sure that he had enough tots on each one. “I didn’t think this through,” he said, sticking forks in each of the bowls. “Considerin’ I don’t own a kitchen table. Couch?”
“Works for me.”
I carried our drinks over and set them on the coffee table while he followed me with the bowls of food. When we got to the couch, he handed me a floral potholder.
“What?”
“Bowl’s hot on the bottom,” he warned.
“Shit,” I said, hurrying to take my bowl from him. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s fine. The calluses on my hands pretty much take care of it.”
“You’re not going to use one of these? Love the flowers.”
“There’s only one,” he said, sitting down.
I sat sideways on the couch with one of my legs crossed under me and looked at my bowl of food. It smelled good. Taking a tentative bite, I was fully prepared to lie my ass off.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled, covering my mouth with my hand. “That’s good.”
“Told you,” he replied happily. “Taco tater tot casserole always saves the night.”
“This was your foster mom’s recipe?” I asked, blowing on another bite. The first one I’d taken was hotter than the sun.
“Bernice,” he confirmed, nodding. “She had a few tried-and-true recipes, but this one was my favorite. By the time I was thirteen, she had me makin’ dinner one night a week. Said it was a life skill.”
“Smart woman.”
“Pragmatic,” he agreed. “She also taught me the right way to load the dishwasher, how to clean a bathroom, basic budgeting, shit like that.”