Chapter Eight: No Commitments
Bones
Walking away from Harper last night was hard, more so than I would have expected, especially as she looked at me with an embarrassed blush spread across her cheekbones. I didn’t want to make her feel that way.
Now, as I moulded my lips to hers in a passionate kiss I had been thinking about planting on her lips since the day we met, I felt glad that I woke up early this morning to come over here. It was worth it. I couldn’t seem to stop kissing her for a long time, lingering and enjoying the heady feeling it gave me to get what I wanted so badly.
When I broke the kiss, I placed my forehead against hers, feeling a very male kind of satisfaction as her lips looked reddened and slightly swollen from the rough way I claimed her mouth.
She was breathing heavy and gave me a small, sexy smile.
“Should we eat?” I asked.
“Y-yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I backed away, giving her some space as I went back to the kitchen island. I opened the paper bag with two giant strawberry danishes inside. I’d stopped by a bakery that I spotted on the way to Harper’s place last night to pick up the sweet pastries, which put me on the receiving end of several wary glances from the woman working behind the counter and the four customers who were sitting at the small, round tables, enjoying their own breakfast. I guess I wasn’t their normal clientele.
“That looks amazing,” Harper commented, opening her coffee and dumping in a large amount of creamer so the liquid almost reached the rim of the paper cup.
I was willing to bet that it wouldn’t taste nearly as sweet as her.
Harper handed me a fork and our fingers brushed against each other. I silently marvelled at the softness of her touch. I had the urge to kiss her again, maybe this time I would pin her against the refrigerator, lift her shirt up. The cold stainless steel would be cold against her skin, but I would find a way to warm her up …
I slightly shook my head at myself and tried to force those thoughts away. As much fun as it was to fantasize about it, I wasn’t going to act on those thoughts, not today. I had to go pick my son up from his mom’s house after breakfast and I didn’t want to be late. There’d been enough bad blood between me and my ex already.
Harper grabbed the bottle of painkillers and shook a few out into her hand.
I’d been on the wrong end of a hangover more often than I cared to think about, so I had a pretty good idea she’d have a headache this morning. I’d been watching her last night and she’d only had three mixed drinks, but she ended up drunk, which told me she probably wasn’t much of a drinker. It didn’t surprise me. She had a conservative quality to her that made me want to break through her serious outer shell and get to know the woman underneath. That was why I didn’t mind seeing her trashed. It opened her up in a way I didn’t think would happen so quickly otherwise.
Digging into the danish, I let my eyes wander lazily around the kitchen. It was a good-sized room, taking up half the living space, with tall white cabinets and stainless steel appliances. There wasn’t much decor in the room, just a clock on the wall with the image of a different coffee cup where the numbers should have been.
What I found interesting was the cooking equipment. Some of it was set on the counter, which I took to mean that her cabinets were already completely full. I noticed a stand mixer, a blender, and an instant pot. “You like to cook, huh?” I asked.
She followed my gaze to the counter with all her small appliances. “Yeah, but sometimes it doesn’t seem like it’s worth the effort for just Roscoe and me.”
“You make your dog food too?”
“Of course not.” She shoved my shoulder lightly. “He gets the leftovers.”
“It sucks to be alone most nights, but it’s bold of you to move here for a job, not knowing anyone.”
“If I’m honest, I didn’t have much of a social life in Vegas anyway. I’ve always put work first.”
“Now, that’s no way to live,” I told her honestly.
She shrugged but averted her eyes to her food.
It looked like I’d touched a nerve. “Do you like the job?”
“Yeah.” She looked up. “I really do. I’ve worked hard to get here, starting as a waitress on the casino floor of The Bromwell in Vegas and working my way up from there. I was a bartender, a Blackjack dealer, and eventually assistant manager of the whole place. When I heard about the casino manager job here at the Red Stone Hotel, I had to apply.”
“And how old are you?” I asked, curious.
“Thirty.”
I let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”
“I love the work, honestly. I like to run things, organize, and be in charge. I know it’s just a casino, but it feels meaningful.”