Perfectly Lonely - Jessica Marin Page 0,33
smiles sadly at me, which makes me regret even asking.
I hold up my wine glass to her to make a toast. “To change,” I say and we clink our glasses together. I take a long pull of the delicious wine while my eyes stay locked onto hers. I savor the flavorful liquid as long as I can and make a loud gulp as I watch her tongue dart out to lick the remnants of wine off her lips.
“Are you hungry? I’m starving!” I hastily say, hoping she didn’t notice my voice a higher octave than normal. She gives me a questioning look and I immediately head to the kitchen to distract myself. “I can cook us dinner if you have food.”
“You know how to cook?” she asks skeptically, as she follows me into the kitchen. I open up her refrigerator and am relieved to see she has recently been grocery shopping. “Yes, my mother taught my brother and me how to cook our family meals every Sunday when growing up. Do you like to cook?”
She wrinkles her cute nose in disgust. “No, I like to pay someone to cook for me.”
“Then why do you have all these groceries?” I chuckle, getting the pans out from underneath the cabinets and taking the food out that I want to prep.
“I bribe Robert with free food if he will come over and cook it for me. He’s actually a good cook.”
I laugh at her resourcefulness and start cooking the chicken I found in the refrigerator. She watches me intently as I describe what I’m doing so she can see that this is easy enough for her to cook by herself. Thirty minutes later, we are sitting down at her dining room table, our plates filled with grilled chicken, asparagus and couscous.
“Bon appétit!” I tell her and watch as she cuts a piece of chicken and places it in her mouth. Her eyes get wide as she chews, nodding her head in appreciation.
“Wow, this is really good! I’m impressed,” she says, taking another bite of asparagus.
“I’m happy you like it. Next time I’ll make you my specialty, beef stroganoff.”
She doesn’t say anything about there not being a next time and I take that as a good sign. We eat in compatible silence for a few minutes, watching each other relish in the taste of the delicious food.
“So, are we going to address the elephant in the room?” she asks, placings her fork down to indicate she’s done eating.
“I don’t see any elephant in the room,” I jokingly look around before stuffing my mouth with the last piece of chicken on my plate. I mentally kick myself for not making more food to consume in order to not have to talk yet about my past. I’m just delaying the inevitable because if I want Layla in my life permanently, she needs to know everything.
She rolls her eyes at my sarcasm and gets right to the point. “Why do you think you killed your father?”
“I don’t think, I know I did,” I get up to take our plates away to put in the sink and she follows me.
“Chase, stop with the dishes and talk to me.” She shuts the faucet off that I had turned on to start washing the dishes, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the couch. We sit down and I can’t help but smile at her as she sits at the opposite end of the couch.
“There’s no way you intentionally killed your father. You would be in prison instead of sitting here with me.”
“My family is very wealthy, we could’ve paid the cops off.” This is not a far-fetched notion as my father made very sizable donations to the local police department.
“Alright Chase, since I invited you over for a serious conversation that you don’t seem to want to have, then you are free to leave. I’m tired and I have nothing more to say to you.” She stands up and is about to leave when I grab her hand and pull her back down to the couch, purposely closer to me.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I apologize, but I need to hold your hand in order for me to talk seriously.” She gives me that sexy smirk that makes my groin tighten and appeases me by letting me hold her hand while we talk.
“My father was never the kind of dad that was going to win the Father of the Year award, much less even be nominated,” I begin, taking a