“I fucking love chili, but I wasn’t lying. If you put it in front of me, I’ll eat it. So if it’s something you feel like making, make it, babe. Don’t worry about what I like.”
“But what if I make something, like chili, and you don’t eat meat?” she asks, turning her head to peer back at me. “I need to know if you have any dietary restrictions. I can make it meatless.”
I cock my head. “Aside from the fact that I got dead animals mounted on my wall, do I look like I don’t eat meat to you?” I ask her.
Riley’s eyes lower to my chest, hold there for a beat then quickly dart back up to my face. “No. You look like you eat meat,” she says before turning back around. “A lot of it,” she adds on a mumble.
I smirk as she continues stirring up the eggs.
“So, how are you getting to your appointment today? You can’t drive, can you?”
“Nope. Truck’s a stick,” I answer, setting my cup down. “I’ll probably just call a cab since I can’t bum a ride. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m sorry I can’t take you,” she says, turning sideways to look at me while keeping hold of the spatula. Her eyes are heavy with sadness. “I’d skip class if it wasn’t for my test today, but they don’t let us make those up. I really can’t miss it. I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”
She presses her lips together, looking like she is worrying about it.
Fuck.
I don’t want her worrying. And I don’t want Riley thinking she needs to be apologizing either—I got enough of that shit last night.
“Riley, babe, I know you want to help me out as much as you can, I get that, I appreciate it too, but you gotta life and shit that’s important. More important than giving me a ride,” I tell her, needing this information to stick so we don’t have this conversation again. “I got you here making me breakfast, darlin’, and you’re talking about making me dinner too. Honest, as much as I enjoy eating, I care about that more than you taking me to a doctor’s appointment. So when I say don’t worry about it, don’t worry about it. Don’t tell me you’re sorry either. You don’t need to be. Okay?”
She pulls in a breath through her nose, then nods her head. “Okay,” she says quietly.
“Good. Shit’s settled. No more apologizing.”
Her mouth tips up in the corner.
I jerk my chin at the stove. “Now turn around so I can go back to watching your cute little ass making me eggs,” I order.
Riley narrows her eyes while fighting an even bigger smile.
I don’t fight shit. I give her my grin because I want her seeing it.
“Friends don’t do that,” she informs me with some sass before spinning back around.
“Friends don't do what?”
“Look at each other’s asses. That’s not a friendly thing to do.”
“Fuck that,” I grumble. “What’d I say about adding rules to this shit?” I watch Riley shake her head as she takes the eggs off the heat and separates them onto two plates. “Babe, don’t even. The only way I’m not looking at your ass is if you quit having one. And I know you look at Beth’s so don’t play with me. Checking out asses is friendly.”
“Oh, my God,” Riley chuckles. She turns off the burner and carries over our plates, setting mine down in front of me. Our eyes lock over the top of the sink. “You probably think we make out all the time, don’t you? Like at sleepovers? French kissing is friendly too, right? Is that what you're going to tell me next?”
I stare at her with a straight face as she takes a bite of her eggs.
“What?” she asks around her mouthful, shielding her lips with the back of her hand.
I smile.
Her hand lowers and her mouth grows tight. “Really?” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “You’re picturing that, aren’t you? Me and her making out. You’re totally thinking about that.”
I take a bite of my eggs and give her a wink.
Yes, I am totally thinking about that.
Riley shakes her head and lowers her gaze to her plate. She takes another bite.
I do the same, chewing and swallowing before forking some more.
“These eggs are great. Cooked perfect,” I tell her, wanting her to know she fucking nailed breakfast, because she did.
Riley blinks up at me, stops chewing, and smiles. And I can see in her shining eyes and the way her back goes straight and her chest heaves with a relieved breath how much hearing that means to her. And it makes me wonder something.
Aside from all the bitching about shit he didn’t like, did that asshole ever compliment her when he did like something? Did he ever let her know she was appreciated?
My jaw clenches as I stare back, coming to my own conclusion.
He didn’t.
Fuck. Jesus Christ, that pisses me off. And that’s just shit I don’t get. Who the fuck wouldn’t want to see their woman looking like this? Smiling. Looking proud of herself. Who wouldn’t want to see her looking like this?
“What?” Riley asks, jarring my focus.
I blink, relax my jaw, and give her a weak grin. “Nothing,” I say, and Riley accepts that and grins back. I watch her go back to eating.
I do the same, and I do this thinking about all the ways I’m going to give her what she deserves.
I get back home later that night, pay the cab driver and send him on his way, then I make it up the driveway, going between my truck and Riley’s white Chevy Cruze. With the folded piece of paper held between my teeth, I hop up onto the porch, take the two steps to the front door, turn the knob and nudge it open using the foot of my crutch.
Riley turns at the sound of my entrance from where she’s standing at the stove. She flashes me a smile, then immediately rounds the counter and starts moving toward me.
My eyes fall to her tanned legs shifting under the hem of my hoodie she’s still wearing. Looks like she’s claimed that as hers.
I smirk around the paper in my mouth.
“Here. Let me take that,” Riley says, reaching up and taking the paper. She leans around me to push the door shut. “Hey, you got a boot.”
I hear her observation and watch her eyes fall to my foot when she straightens back up, but I got a question of my own that needs answering, and I don’t waste any time asking it.
“How was your test?”
Riley lifts her eyes to my face. She blinks, looking like the fact that I’m asking this means something big to her, which has me wondering about that shithead again, then gives me a proud smile and lifts her chin, stating, “I think I nailed it.”
“Babe.” I steady my crutch, then hold my hand up for her to high five.
She does, giggling.
“When do you find out?” I ask her.
“Couple weeks probably,” she answers, rolling her eyes and sighing heavily. “It takes my teacher forever to grade anything. She likes to torture us.”
“Make sure you share with me when you get the word. We’ll celebrate.”
Riley smiles big, letting me know she likes that plan. Then lifts the paper in the air she took from me. “Where do you want this?” she asks.
I gesture at the kitchen with my head. “Tack it up on the fridge for me, will you? It’s my schedule for PT.”
“Oh,” she says with interest, unfolding it to read as she turns around and heads where I direct her.