Now I have to turn back around and face him again because, whoa. “That was profound,” I deadpan, not giving him the credit he deserves. It’s true; mealtime can be so much more than food.
I remember staying with Beck a few times and adoring their family dinners. They’d talk about their days, share their interests, and in general, just connect, even if it was in a small way. My Mom didn’t eat dinner. So I ate alone at the table while she smoked a cigarette and drank whatever god-awful alcoholic concoction she came up with that night.
Most people don’t realize how lucky mealtime is with a good family. Atticus clearly does. But when he pointed it out just now, I teased him.
“Profound, and you’re still doin’ it your way.”
Ugh. Why does he have to point out the obvious? Just to make me feel bad? “He’s eating. That’s all that matters,” I grit out, justifying this by telling myself that I don’t feed Jett that much anyway, so it’s not like he’ll remember. But what the hell am I justifying? My choice to not hand feed him or my extreme desire to stifle human contact?
Oh Jesus, Goldie.You’re spinning out over feeding Jett.Re-fucking-lax!I pick up the next piece of sweet potato, and he opens wide. I don’t turn to see the satisfaction on Atticus’s face when I hand-feed Jett, and I expect I’ll hear Atticus boast, but he just grunts. Something about the grunt sound satisfies me, and the way satisfying him makes my spine tingle is seriously problematic.
I don’t even know this man. But his singular, non-directed grunt has me imagining riding his probable-monster cock while he bounces me in his lap.
I shake the thought off after Jett grows too sleepy to eat. With Atticus just watching, I clean up the tray while Jett gnaws on the strap to his water cup.
“I’ll change him and put him to bed,” Atticus says, suddenly on his feet, looming over me. Seriously, I’m five foot eight, but he’s… big. And warm. I can feel the heat radiating off him through his Army green henley. There are holes in it near the buttons and one in the elbow, but he is still making me wet. I can’t believe I’m admitting it, but it’s true.
Surprising us both, I agree, handing Jett to him with a simple “okay.”
I spend the next forty-five minutes making the quinoa salad, first by setting the quinoa to cook. While it does, I peel and chop the cucumbers and finely dice the fresh Feta. After making the dressing and cutting the cherry tomatoes and avocados, I mix it all together as the quinoa steams. There’s plenty, and it makes my stomach rumble, but I’m too depressed to eat. When it's all said and done, Beck (and maybe Beau, too) have a couple of healthy meals on hand. Expecting to find Atticus watching TV on the couch when I walk out, I’m surprised to find him sitting in the singular chair facing the front window, his nose tucked into a book.
Before I can tease him about what he may be reading, the title jumps out at me.
“Really?” I put my hands on my hips. “You’re readingCujowhile you’re babysitting?”
He glowers at me over the top of the opened horror book. “I ain’t readin’ ittohim.”
“Still,” I argue, walking across the room to flop down on the couch. I’m beat. Even though I literally did nothing all day. Well, hopefully, that will change soon. This HR job is going to turn my entire life around…said no one, ever. “It’s scary to have around.”
His glower somehow gets meaner. “Jett can’t read.”
“The cover is scary,” I say, draping my arm over my eyes.
“Pretty sure he didn’t see under my jacket,” he says, motioning to his leather jacket draped over the couch. Still peering around my arm, I look at the jacket a little bit too long. I’ve never seen Atticus in a leather jacket, but the fantasy is… unnerving.
I settle my arm over my eyes again and hear him slide his book onto the windowsill.
“Why’d you need a babysitter?” he asks, and I get hung up on his rough, scraping tone, losing the meaning of his words.
“What?” I ask, refusing to drop my arm and look at him.
“They don’t trust you with Jett, huh?” he snarks, andthatgets my arm off my eyes in a split freaking second. He’s kinda grinning, kinda staring when I jerk from laying to sitting.
“They do. It was a last- minute call. They called us at the same time.” I fold my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes on him. “Beck wanted you to go once she knew I was coming, but she felt bad.” My lips twist to the side with satisfaction, but it’s short- lived. Atticus grins.
“That ain’t true, and you know it.”
Fuck. Did he hear my conversation with Beck at the front door? “Were you eavesdropping?” I can’t narrow my eyes any more or they’ll be closed, so I pop my eyebrows once for effect.
He leans forward, and the chair complains. I wonder what noisesI’dmake if he was on top ofme.
“Even if I was, if you aren’t lyin’, it don’t matter what I heard, right?” The expressionless wink he gives is maddening.
I drive my fists into the couch, one on each side of me. “Gah!” I groan. “You are so frustrating.”
He leans back, making the chair squeak again. That’s not a small chair, but with Atticus in it, it looks like doll furniture.
“You’re just mad I don’t buy into your shit.”