Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,86
special this weekend?”
He shakes his head while frowning. “Nope. Just hanging out.”
I’m trying to act casual while digging for information. I hope I can pull it off. “You know, you don’t have to hang out at my place all the time if you don’t want to. I mean, if you want to go out or whatever, you can. You don’t have to feel like you’re tied to me just because you got me pregnant.”
His expression goes dark. “Thanks.”
I try to read his mind but it’s like he’s pulled a shutter down between us. “What’s wrong? Did that piss you off?”
He shrugs. “Nope.”
I reach over and bang him on the upper arm with the back of my hand. “Yes, it did. I know that look on your face.”
He reaches up and strokes his beard. “You can’t even see my face anymore. I’m in stealth mode.”
“No, you’re not. You’re in ugly-face mode.” I laugh at my joke. As if.
He grins, making the tufts of hair on his face move up with his smile. “You know it, baby. I’m just waiting for someone to call me Sasquatch.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“Oh yeah, it will.” He pulls on the bottom of his beard. “Just wait until this baby is down to my chest.”
“Whatever you say.” I’m picturing Lucky holding his two babies, one in each arm. That means there’ll be four tiny hands reaching up to grab ahold of that beard and pull it. I’m pretty sure the facial hair is going to come off not very long after the babies are born, but we’ll see. Maybe he’s a stronger man than I imagine.
“I was thinking I would cook you dinner, actually,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Why? You don’t like my food?” We’ve shared a few meals since he moved in. Nothing fancy, basically just warmed-up canned, frozen, and boxed things . . . My specialty.
He glances at me with a pained expression. “It’s not that I don’t like charcoal, per se, but I was just thinking maybe you’d like to sample some of my cuisine for a change.”
I whack him on the arm, only harder this time. “Charcoal? What are you talking about?”
He’s smiling way too hard. “You’re the only person I know who can actually burn black the entire square surface of a piece of bread.” He leans over toward me and stretches his lips back, exposing all of his teeth. “Do I have any of that charcoal in my teeth?”
I shove him away and look out the side window so he won’t see me smiling. “Shut up. There was no charcoal on that toast.”
“You mean there was no toast on that toast. It was pure black.” He holds up a finger. “The good news is, though, if anyone tries to poison me it won’t work now.”
I look over at him, confused. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because . . . I have enough charcoal in my system to absorb any toxins I ingest.”
I cross my arms over my chest and stare out the front window. I didn’t burn the toast that badly. “You better get an official food taster for your meals from now on. You don’t know what I might slip in there.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t scare me.” He pats and rubs his stomach. “Like I said . . . I’m all charcoaled up.”
The interior of the car goes silent for a while until I catch him ogling me at a stoplight. “What’re you looking at?”
“Your boobs,” he says, sounding mesmerized. “They’re huge.”
I pull my arms away from my chest and place them at my sides, resisting the urge to plaster my hands over my chest. “Why are you looking at them?” My face is hot and I’m sweating.
“Why wouldn’t I? You have the nicest rack of anybody I’ve ever seen.”
“Rack? Could you be any ruder?” I’m trying really hard not to smile.
He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. “I call it like I see it.”
All I can say is, he’s lucky he’s so cute and the father of my babies. They’re the only things keeping me from slugging him in the gut. My face stays warm for the next several blocks as I imagine him ogling me and liking what he sees. I resist the urge to toss my hair over my shoulder.
We pull into the port and up to the warehouse. The engine purrs as we wait for the big door to slide open.