I smiled. “Cheers.”
“Lunch is on.” He pulled the oven door down enough to peer inside, and the smell hit me. Chicken. Barbeque.
I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you, um…”
“Veggie?” He smiled. “Yeah, I am. But you’re not. I’m not one of thosethou shalt nottypes. Eat what you want.” He pulled out a salad bowl from the fridge, and he’d even made that artistic. Chunky colours in flamboyant shapes. Cucumber stars, and tomatoes in neat little triangles.
“You shouldn’t have…” I started, but he waved it aside.
“Used to it. Carl’s virtually an anti-veggie. He has a side of beef with his beef, that guy.”
Carl.I felt like an intruder upon hearing his name, hitting on his boyfriend while he was out of sight. I fucking hate cheating. The thought gave me shivers, feeling way more seedy than selling my ass for three grand a month.Go fucking figure.
“Where is Carl?”
“Work,” he said. “He’s sorry he couldn’t make it.”
I only wished I was, too.
He gestured behind me, to the laptop on the kitchen counter, the stool placed in front. “Beauty of working from home. My time’s my own. Mostly.”
“That’s what I want,” I said. “My own timetable.”
“Best feeling in the world.” His eyes looked me up and down. “Or one of them.” His gaze burned me, his low laugh making me blush. He pulled out some bowls, and sauces, and a couple of serving spoons, laid them out on the kitchen island and pulled me up a stool. “Thought we could eat here.”
I took a seat. “Works for me.”
I was glad I’d opted for casual. It felt so much nicer to wear my own skin. My jeans were my best pair, and my t-shirt was one of my newer ones, and I’d even worn a couple of bracelets to jazz it up a little, but I was definitely me today. It felt good to be me in front of Rick Warner, and his smile told me I was doing just fine. I liked that. I likedhim.
“How’s your big hairy boy?” he said.
I gawped at him. Just gawped. Not once had anyone I’d been fucking ever asked after Samson before, not without prompting.
“Samson,” he clarified, like it was needed. “How is he?”
“He’s good.” I grinned. “He’s great. We’re in training for the summer eventing circuit. I think we’ll do well this year.” I crossed my fingers, held them up. “Ihopewe’ll do well this year.”
He mirrored my gesture. “I’ll keep mine crossed, too. And my toes.” He pulled on some oven gloves and took out the chicken. “Maybe we could come and watch. Me and Carl, I mean.”
“Watch me and Samson?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll see you pick up some rosettes. That would be cool. We could be your cheerleaders. Don’t be fooled by Carl’s stoic exterior, he’s got some moves.” He pulled a couple ofSaturday Night Fevergestures, wiggling on the spot with his oven-gloved hands on his hips, and it tickled me.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You seriously want to come and see me and Samson on the eventing course?”
He fixed me in an easy stare. “Sure I do. Why, is that some dating no-no or something?”
I held up my hands. “No, I just… I thought…”
His stare didn’t waver. “You thought this was all about sex?”
“No!” I protested.
He laughed. “You totally did. And it’s not. I mean sex is sex, and it’s fucking great, and I can’t fucking wait to get you under me again, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not it. Not all of it.”
My mouth felt dry as he ditched the oven gloves and forked chicken wings onto my plate. “So… what isit?” I said. “What else is there?”
He handed me the serving spoon, and watched as I piled some salad alongside my chicken. “That depends.”