heard the unmistakable sound of a stomach growling—Torie’s.
I scoffed in annoyance at myself. “God, here I go again, running my idiot mouth while you’re probably about to pass out from hunger.”
“I am pretty hungry,” she admitted. “But I…I don’t want to—”
“Where I grew up,” I cut in, “hospitality was a way of life. We didn’t have much, but if we ever had a guest, we treated them like royalty with all we had. So you ain’t imposing or asking or being needy—I’m insisting.” I moved for the stairs. “Now come on and eat, before you faint.”
I made sure to precede her up the stairs, or I’d spend the whole walk up staring at her ass, and she didn’t need me ogling her backside, too. Again.
I pulled the roast out of the Crock-Pot, set it on a platter, and set about slicing it the way I’d watched Dad do countless times. I plated up two heaping portions, and set the plates on my little round table, which was about halfway between the kitchenette and the living room area.
“I don’t do much by way of sides,” I explained. “I tend to just eat the meat and not much else. Don’t have the patience or the time for the other shit.”
She just did that sultry, negligent roll of her shoulder. “I’m not picky. Just grateful to be somewhere warm and dry.”
“You want somethin’ to drink?” I asked.
“Whatever you’ve got.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Well, being a bachelor, I’ve got tap water and beer.”
She just grinned at me. “Beer is good.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Hate to sound…I dunno, like a fartsy old guy, but…are you legal drinking age?”
“Twenty,” she answered. “Twenty-one in a month and a half.” A wry grin. “So, close enough, I’d say.”
Phew. Well over eighteen, and almost legal to drink, so I didn’t have to feel shitty about having a hard-on for a seventeen-year-old. And, really, she was only six years younger than me. Shit, my ma was eight years younger than Dad, and they’d been together going on thirty years.
She smirked at me. “You were worried I was a runaway, weren’t you?”
I shrugged, shook my head as I got us both a beer, uncapped them and handed her one. “I mean, it crossed my mind, but I knew you were probably at least eighteen.”
“Thank you,” she said, smirking at me. “I won’t tell, I swear.” She tilted her head to one side, severing a piece of roast off with her fork, stabbing it, and popping it into her mouth. “I look that young, to you?”
It’s a trap—the Star Wars quote ran through my head in Admiral Ackbar’s voice. “Uh…well? I’m not that great at knowing how old someone is by looking at them. All I know is, you’re gorgeous.”
Her ivory skin went pink as she blushed. “Thanks?”
I hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it was true, and it was an understatement. Now that she was clean and dry and her hair was brushed, the raw, stunning, artful perfection of her face was highlighted. Her cheekbones framed her deep, pale brown eyes; the sharp point of her chin enhanced the delicate angles of her jaw, the sculpted cupid’s bow of her upper lip was perfection. God, she was so much more than merely gorgeous.
I ducked my head to pull my gaze away from her, digging into my food.
A strange not-awkward silence ensued as we both ate. She devoured all I’d given her in a matter of minutes and gave a longing look at the platter between us—I didn’t wait for her to ask, I just slid a few more pieces onto her plate, and onto mine, and we kept eating.
She glanced at me, now and again. “Do you see yourself always working on cars?”
“I don’t know. I’m working on getting my realtor license. If I can make more selling houses, maybe I could do less salvaging. I’d like to be able to do engine work full time, but I just don’t have enough clientele for that, yet. All my business is word of mouth, and I’m doing all right considering I’m only twenty-six, but…I guess I’m just impatient.”
“Well, I’m almost twenty-one and I don’t have a damn clue what to do with my life. I know it’s not waiting tables, but I don’t have any idea what it is.”
“There’s nothing wrong with waiting tables,” I said.
“Hell no,” she said, around a mouthful. “I know that. I’ve worked for Mr. Sokoli since I was fourteen. It’s a good