Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery #2) - Jiffy Kate Page 0,20
rolls her head back the other way, leaning over until her cheek is pressed against the window. “This feels good.”
Slipping the paper out of her purse, I check the address and pause before pulling out of the parking lot to put it into the GPS on my phone. Just like Floyd said, it’s less than a few miles away, so I turn out and head back toward town.
“Cage,” I tell her, answering her original question, but I’m not even sure if she’s still awake. Her breathing is quiet and I can’t see her face. “I’m Cage Erickson.”
“Like an animal … cage?” she asks, laughing once.
I shake my head. “Yeah, kinda like that.”
“Or a bird cage. Are you a bird?”
She’s making no sense, but I love the lilt of her voice, so I don’t stop her.
“I had a rabbit once. Her name was Britney Spears. She lived in a cage, except when I snuck her into my bedroom, but my mama hated it.” She pauses and sighs before laughing again. “Tempest June, I don’t want rabbit poop in my house.” Her voice went high and pompous, obviously imitating her mother. “Such a fun killer.”
“Is that a nickname or something?” she asks, forcing herself back up in the seat.
“Nope, just Cage.”
“Just Cage,” she repeats. “Where are you from?”
“Dallas.”
When I stop at a corner, turning down her street, she gets more alert than she’s been in a while. “Dallas?” I glance over to see her nose wrinkle. “Why’d you come here?”
“Change of pace,” I offer, as honest as I wanted to be this time of night. Although, I realize I could probably tell her my entire life story and she probably wouldn’t remember any of it come morning.
A few minutes later, I pull up in the driveway of a yellow house. The porch light is on, as well as a lamppost in the front yard. It’s quaint and cute and it looks like a place where happy people live.
Turning the truck off, I look over to Tempest, but she’s back to snoozing against the door. I wonder if she was happy … before. I bet she was. She seems like someone who is inherently happy, which pisses me off that she’s been reduced to someone who drinks alone—at a strip club.
Once I ease her back out of the truck, holding her to me, making sure I got the key out before I got her, I make my way to her front door. Unlocking it, I hesitantly peek my head inside. It’s weird being in someone else’s space, especially not knowing her. Not really. And even though she’s with me, I still feel like an intruder.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask, just wanting to make sure she’s safe and tucked in, so I can leave with a good conscience and not worry about her all night.
“Down the hall,” she mumbles, snuggling into my chest.
I pause. She really shouldn’t do that, because even though my brain wants to be a gentleman and take care of her, my dick has other things in mind.
“Not upstairs,” she says. “That’s where …” She drifts off, her hand grabbing onto the fabric of my t-shirt. She doesn’t finish the statement, but if I had to guess, that’s where she used to sleep … before her husband dipped his dick somewhere it didn’t belong.
Flipping on a light switch, a kitchen is illuminated and it looks like a baker’s dream—large counters, big mixer, a stainless steel island with shelves that hold every kind of baking sheet imaginable. When I start to feel like a creeper, I turn toward the hall and walk until I get to an open door.
It’s a nice room, small, obviously a guest room. Walking over to the bed, covered in a fluffy comforter, I set her down and she groans.
Once my arms are free, I look around, wondering what I should do now. This is definitely unchartered territory for me. As she wiggles around, trying to get comfortable, I bend down and slip the red heels off, smiling at them before setting them on the floor beside the bed.
They’re not fuck-me stilettos that most women would wear on a night out, but they’re still fucking sexy as hell.
Pulling the comforter out from under her, I cover her up with it and she turns over, her hair a wild mess around her beautiful face. When I brush a few strands away, she angles her face into my hand and I have to force myself to step back.