Page 51 of Forgotten Dreams
I smirk at her as she kisses my neck and moves away from me.
“I’m glad I got to open you up.” She winks at me, taking one of the grapes and popping it into her mouth.
“So how many men have you cooked for?” I ask her with a glare, and I don’t even know if I want her to answer me or not. “We talk about me all the time. What about you?”
She laughs. “I did cook for this guy one time.” She holds up her hand and the glare gets even more glarey. My eyes into slits so much I can barely see out of them.
“We were dating for about six weeks. He always took me out and finally he asked me to cook for him.”
“He had to ask you to cook a meal for him?” My interest piqued.
“He did.” She nods. “I think I was twenty. I don’t even know but I do know that I knew how to cook two things perfectly. Ramen noodles.”
I bust out laughing. “You mean the noodles that you put in water and then empty the packet of flavor?”
“I sometimes used to add frozen veggies to that.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Anyway, second thing was.” I wait for her to say something gourmet like steak and baked potatoes or something. What I’m not expecting her to say is “mac and cheese.”
“Like homemade, grate the chest and do a roux or like blue box, pour noodles in and add butter and milk with the fluorescent cheese?”
She slaps her hand on the counter. “There is nothing wrong with that mac and cheese,” she says angrily. “Anyway, according to him, a woman is supposed to dazzle him in the kitchen, and well, let’s just say there was no dazzle, so he ghosted me.” I open my mouth. “For three weeks until I ran into him in a bar and confronted him and his new girlfriend.”
“Of course you did.” I grab her hips, pulling her to me.
“I wasn’t just going to let him get away with it, Caleb!” she shrieks. “He broke my heart.”
“He broke your heart?” I ask her and she rolls her eyes now.
“No, but he bruised my ego.” She pushes away from me. “So it’s the same thing.” She turns, going to the fridge.
“Not the same thing at all.” I watch her. “So how did you learn to cook?”
“I took a couple cooking classes.” She shrugs, and my eyes go to her ass. My feet moving to her, taking her ass in my hand and seeing her eyes lust over. “You better stop looking at me like that or I’ll forget I need food, then fucking,” I tell her.
“I don’t think I’m that hungry now anyway,” she says, dropping to her knees in the middle of my kitchen.
“If this doesn’t scream walk of shame,” Sierra deadpans when she gets out of my truck the next night, “I don’t know what does.” She’s wearing exactly what she was wearing when I picked her up here the night before.
I shake my head, getting out and making my way to her, sliding my hand in hers. We’ve spent the last thirty hours having more sex than I thought was humanly possible. If we weren’t fucking, we were sleeping and vice versa. It wasn’t just me; she wanted it as much as I did. “This wouldn’t have happened if you stayed at my house until tomorrow.”
“Oh, because coming home on a Monday morning wearing a leather skirt and lace top with you doesn’t scream I got banged all weekend long.” She looks over at me as she squats down to pick up the stack of papers at her door.
“I wasn’t the only one who did the banging.” I put my hands on her hips and kiss her neck, loving that she smells of my body wash. “You banged me just as many times.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She lets us into her house. “Got to say though, I thought I’d have to ice my vagina after that one time.”
“You said you were fine.” I put my hands on my hips as she walks toward the kitchen, putting the papers down.
“I was fine, but your cock is like a miniature baseball bat.” She snickers as she looks through the papers and sees a white envelope with her name typed in bold black letters in the middle of it. She turns it over and then looks at me before sliding her finger under the flap and ripping it open. She takes the white paper out that is folded in three, putting the envelope back down before unfolding it and then looking back up at me.
“What is it?” I ask, and she turns the paper toward me with the same typed letters from the envelope. “Stop looking.”
I look at the letter, then at her, seeing her eyes going back to the letter before she says, “It seems they don’t want to be found.”
Chapter 23
Sierra
I watch his eyes read the letter I just read before he looks back at me, and I quickly look back down at the letter, trying to calm myself down. “It seems they don’t want to be found.”
