Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
G enesis…
Everything with Chainsaw was so… easy , and besides that, it was fun . We were in my small kitchen, and he was handing me things out of our grocery haul and watching where I put them away.
“If today told me anything, it’s that I need to get out more,” I said, rolling my eyes at myself.
“Yeah?” he asked, handing me a bag of bagels.
“Yeah. I think I really needed it. I didn’t realize how hard I’ve been cooping myself up.”
“Happy to help,” he said.
“I’m off tomorrow, but I work the next two days after that,” I said.
“Not a problem,” he said. “I pretty much make my own schedule unless a storm hits and knocks out power somewhere. I get a list of shit that needs to be handled and a timeframe within which to handle it, but working around your schedule should be no problem. If it is, I’ll get one of the guys to help out by getting you home for me if it should come to it. ”
“Okay.” I smiled. “I’m kind of a crockpot queen when I work. I dump things in and delay the start, and when I get home, there’s food. Is that alright?”
“More than,” he said. “Slow cookers are man’s best friend in the summer months in the South.”
“Oh, I know, right? I use it more than I use my stove. My mom got one for me as a graduation present when I graduated high school and I just love the thing. Most of the shit I bought today is going into freezer bags as dump-and-go meals for the week. Only time I generally cook is if it’s something stupid easy.
And if the shift was just too damn much, that’s what the pot pies are for. ”
He chuckled and said, “No, I get it, I’m right there with you. Speaking of weather, you good if I turn on the local news for the report? Helps to know if I’m in for it in the next few days.”
“Absolutely, of course. I mostly stream, but I think there’s a way to get local news on the TV. You may have to hunt for it, though.”
“I got you.” He retreated from the kitchen and went into the living room, settling into the wing-backed chair that he’d stashed his gym bag under.
“I’m going to get dinner started,” I said. “Let it take its time if that’s okay.”
“All good, it’s whatever you want and need to do.”
“Thanks,” I murmured and got comfortable, slipping out of my jacket and taking it into my bedroom to hang it up. While I had the closet door open, I took off my boots and returned them to their proper place, too.
My feet sighed with relief at the plush carpet beneath them. My socks I ditched in the hamper for dirty clothes.
It was good to be home, and I was strangely comfortable in my domesticity.
“You good if I take a shower?” he asked when I returned to the living space.
“By all means,” I said. “Help yourself.”
“K, thanks, just making sure you didn’t need to go before I got in there.”
“Actually, now that you mention it…” I laughed and went in to use the bathroom really quick.
There was nothing worse than discovering you had to pee only after the water started running and you were stuck in the position of having to wait and hold it until the only bathroom in the place opened back up.
I washed my hands and returned. He slid past me with an armload of clothes and bath stuff into the small space.
“Thanks,” he said, and I nodded.
By the time he came back out, dinner was going in the oven, and I was curled up on the couch watching Murder on the Orient Express with its all-star cast. I thoroughly enjoyed Kenneth Branagh’s take on the classic character of Poirot.
I’d loved Agatha Christie’s books in high school, and they remained my comfort reads throughout college.
When Chainsaw appeared, I felt my breath catch in my throat. He was in just a pair of loose cargo shorts, zipped, but not buttoned, and holy shit – he most definitely didn’t look like any of my uncles.
I blinked owlishly at him, and he chuckled.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he asked, and stuffed the clothes he’d been wearing into a rough ball, dropping them beside the couch.
“Nope,” I said.
“Problem?” he asked, and he took a seat on the other end of my couch from me, lifting the towel that was around his shoulders to rub it over his still-wet hair.
“None at all,” I said, and I fully admit, it took more effort than it should have to tear my eyes off him. Once I’d pulled that off, I resolutely glued them to the television screen.
“Good movie,” he said.
“One of my favorites. I like Death on the Nile and A Haunting in Venice , too. I’m really hoping there’s more to come.”
“Yeah? I saw you dug mysteries and thrillers,” he said.
“Did you now?” I asked and turned my attention back to him.
“Couldn’t sleep last night, glimpsed the books in your little library that way.” He jerked his head in the direction. “I confess, I perused.”
“That’s fair,” I said. “And yeah, I like mysteries and thrillers.”
“Classics, too. Your copy of Paradise Lost by Milton with the Doré woodcut prints caught my eye.”
“You dig Milton?” I asked, surprised.
“And Dante, and Shelly.” He thought about it some more. “Poe, and Verne too.”
“I’m impressed,” I said thoughtfully. “Most men aren’t into reading.”
“Wasn’t a lot to do in juvie when I was in it. I picked up the habit there when I was a pre-teen.”
“Juvie, huh?” I asked.
“Petty theft, truancy, and eventually burglary. My mom had a meth habit. Sometimes food was scarce. I stole to feed myself, and my relationship with food got kind of fucked. After I got shot, I reevaluated a lot of shit and decided some changes were in order.”
I let my gaze wander. “You’ve done good,” I said quietly. “Really good.”
He grinned and said, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was sort of frozen in my little corner of the couch.
His clothes had done a good job of hiding just how far he’d come.
I snuck a glance again and startled when I realized he was staring at me.
“What?” I asked, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.
“You’re beautiful,” he stated simply, and I blinked, taken aback.
“I’m not sure what to do with that,” I said quietly. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” he said and looked back at the television. “You mind if we rewind it some or even start it over?”
“Not at all,” I said. “It’s not terribly far into it.”
I started it over again.
By the time the movie was almost to the credits, he captured my attention again with a quiet, “Hey.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Why don’t you go change? Get comfortable.”
I thought about it.
“Okay, if the oven goes off, can you get the food out?” I asked.
“Absolutely, you want to watch the next one?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.”
He smiled.
“Triple feature it is,” he said, and I laughed.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I shot back, getting to my feet.
He chuckled, stopping the movie a little way into the credits and going back to look for the next one in the queue.
I went and changed, like he suggested, slipping out of my jeans and pulling my top over my head to ditch them in the laundry.
I slipped out of my bra and put it away where it belonged, and bravely opened my pajama drawer to dig past the comfortable and well-worn things I usually wore to find a set that I’d bought to make me feel pretty.
It was a satin sleep set that was a short pair of shorts and a light, flowy tank with lace along the bust in a pale, pale mint green that did magical things for my eyes.
I’d never worn it for anyone else’s eyes before, but I also didn’t feel like being upstaged in my own home – even if it wasn’t a beauty contest.
I stood in front of my full-length mirror and smoothed a hand over my stomach, turning to the side and chewing my bottom lip at the peek of my ass cheeks just below the hem of the high-cut shorts.
Maybe it was too much by not being enough, if you know what I mean…
Shit. Were we flirting? I didn’t even know. Was I reading things all wrong? Was this the worst idea in the history of bad ideas? Like, if there were an Olympics for bad ideas, what would this even rate? Did I think it would take the gold?
No. No, this wasn’t gold medal worthy when it came to bad ideas. Bronze maybe, or maybe runner-up right behind the bronze – which would just make me a loser…
Ugh, yes, you’re horny and being a loser! Jesus, Gen!
The timer on the oven went off, and I jumped, just barely escaping yelping out loud.
Fuck!
I split the difference with myself and grabbed my light, satin robe that was short, but longer than the shorts I had on underneath it.
I wrapped myself in it and made sure to tie the strings on the inside to keep it from falling open, even if the sash gave way for some reason.
I heard Chainsaw curse, and I called out, “Coming!”
I rushed out the bedroom door and caught him closing the oven with one hand while shaking the other out.
“No, it’s all good. Pot holder just shifted on me a little. Don’t even need to run it under cold water.”
“Oh, yikes – good though, that’s good. How’s it look?”
“Uh, I don’t know how it’s supposed to look, but it smells fantast—” He’d turned his head and looked at me.
“I take that back, you look great. Stunning, actually.”
I laughed and shook my head, realizing I’d not freed it from its ponytail and riding sheath.
I reached up and back and took my hair down.
“Be right back. Let me put this away.” I turned and went back for the bedroom, but didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath behind me as he watched me go.
I give it a 9.5, I thought to myself with a satisfied little smirk. When I returned to the kitchen, it was to Chainsaw pulling down a pair of plates.
“This looks real good,” he said, and I smiled.
“Thanks, it’s a chicken cordon bleu bake. Hope that’s alright.”
“More than. I can’t remember the last time I had a meal someone else cooked in their kitchen that wasn’t a restaurant.”
“Well, I’m not a Michelin Star chef, but I don’t do too badly for myself. My mom was a great cook, and we sort of did most of our bonding in the kitchen,” I told him.