Chapter Twenty-One #2
Just as the words leave my mouth, my belly betrays me like the gurgling fuck it is, the sound resembling a starved grizzly bear in search of food. My eyes widen, and I slap my hands over my comforter-covered stomach, muttering, “Okay, well, that was terrible timing.”
The guys laugh, even Rayne gracing me with a short-lived snort before he disappears from the bedroom, leaving us behind.
Bax stands at the same time Ryan does, and they flash a smile before they also leave, and I briefly wonder if my rumbling stomach has somehow managed to chase them off when my folded-up body wedged in my bathtub didn’t.
“Come on, Blue,” Caid says from beside me, reaching for the comforter and helping to untangle me from its tight clutches. “Out of bed.”
A part of me doesn’t even want to move, comfortable and at ease here, even with the hottie lying next to me. Hell, I’m about to protest and remain right here, but then my stomach makes another sound that could have crawled right from the pits of hell.
Laughing, Caiden finally drags the comforter away and rolls out of bed, walking around to my side before reaching a hand out for me to take. “Let’s go, Sleeping Beauty.”
With a small huff, I reach for his hand, clutching it tightly as I use him to pull myself out of bed.
As soon as I’m standing in my rumpled work clothes and messy blue hair, Caiden adjusts our hands until he’s holding mine snugly in his before dragging me out of my room and toward the kitchen, where I smell something so divine that it almost distracts me from the fact that I’m holding hands with Caiden Miller.
“What’s that smell?” I question, holding on to my stomach when I feel as well as hear the monstrous grumble, squeezing Caid’s hand without meaning to.
He flashes me a grin before putting on a sophisticated English accent, tugging me to the kitchen island where several plates lie, and announcing, “Your potatoes, my lady.”
Sure enough, a closer inspection produces a sight to behold.
Several plates are piled high with various forms of potato.
I can see one stacked high with crispy potatoes, another with homemade fries, a plate filled with potato-wedge nachos, and one that looks to be Hasselback potatoes.
Between every potato is a variation of chicken, from popcorn to breaded fillets to nuggets.
It looks like a wet dream of carbs and protein laid out before me, and my mouth is watering for a whole new reason as I eye all of the food that I need in my belly pronto.
“Oh my God, heaven exists,” I breathe, reaching my free hand to my mouth, wiping away imaginary drool. “Who cooked all of this?”
“It was a shared endeavor,” Caiden answers, and there’s something in the tone of his voice that hints at a secret meaning I don’t follow.
I don’t have time to mentally question it, because the next thing I know, Caiden has led me to a seat beside the one Rayne has claimed at the island, Ryan has delicately placed a plate in front of me, and Baxter gestures to the smorgasbord of glorious-smelling food and says, “Dig in, Sunshine. Help yourself, there’s plenty for everyone and then some. ”
My belly rumbles as though there’s a monster in there yearning to escape, and we both agree that there’s no need to be told twice.
I waste literally no time in piling my plate with food, creating a mini mountain of chicken and taters that I will no doubt regret eating tomorrow.
I don’t care. It all smells too good, looks far too delicious, to limit myself.
If I’m bloated tomorrow, it’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make.
As soon as I’m done filling every ounce of space on the plate, the guys finally dig in, too, and we all settle into casual conversation while we eat.
The big lights have been switched off, only the lamps lighting the space around us, and the TV is playing a random movie quietly.
It’s cozy and cute, and I wonder for the first time if this could be something I get used to.
Not that it hasn’t already started. Most nights, I either text the group chat or they text me, and we somehow end up eating dinner together.
Sometimes one-on-one, sometimes as a group, sometimes with one or two of the guys missing.
But there almost hasn’t been a time in the past month that I’ve eaten alone.
I could count on one hand the times I’ve spent lunch and dinner by myself.
I fear that I’m already used to the company. Hell, I find myself craving it, in more ways than one.
By the time we’re done, I’m carrying a food baby that makes me look at least six months pregnant, I’m sated, there are no more bear rumbles coming from the depths of my stomach, and I can’t seem to move from the couch where I’m embodying the vegetable that put me in this state.
“If you hear a ruckus after you’ve gone back to your apartment, have no fear.
It’s just me rolling my chungus ass back to my bedroom,” I groan, resting my hands on my full stomach while Rayne flicks through the TV channels like he often does.
He stops on one, I shake my head, and he continues the search.
It’s something we’ve done regularly over the past few weeks, a funny little routine we’ve fallen into that needed no discussion.
When he lands on one of my favorites, Schitt’s Creek, I nod as enthusiastically as my coma will allow, and he turns it on without so much as an eye roll, scoff, or protest. It’s something I’ve noticed he does every time, giving me options and simply opting to go with what I like the moment I nod.
He doesn’t convince me to watch something different, doesn’t put something on he’d prefer, simply sits content to watch whatever I’m in the mood for.
It doesn’t escape my notice how the others do the same, as though they’re just happy to be included.
“So, when do you think you’re going to take those two weeks’ vacation?” Ryan asks after the first episode, those twenty-odd minutes spent with me trying to get comfortable in my work clothes. These slacks aren’t meant for lounging on the couch after a meal to end all other meals.
When my fidgeting grows too much for Rayne to bear, he sends me a tired look that I wince at before muttering, “Sorry. Slacks aren’t couch clothes.”
“Then go get comfy,” he argues, reaching for the remote and pausing it without question, jerking his head toward the hallway that will lead me to my bedroom. “You can answer Ry when you get back.”
Flashing him a grateful smile, I do as I’m told, rushing through getting changed as much as a food-bloated woman can. I’m sluggish by the time I’m done, dressed in an oversized hoodie and bike shorts that reveal a whole lotta leg.
By the time I walk back into the living room, I’m tired again, accepting the blanket Baxter hands me as I pass by him to reclaim my seat between him and Rayne.
With my hair a mess of blue atop my head, my face bare of makeup, and my body encased in comfort, I finally answer Ryan just as Rayne presses play on the show but turns down the volume.
“I haven’t really thought about it, honestly. I have too much to do over the next month, so maybe after that?” I say, phrasing the latter half more as a question by mistake.
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “You are going to take them, right?”
I purse my lips and nod, but apparently he sees right through me already.
“You’re taking your hard-earned time off, Mads. You didn’t go through all that trouble for nothing,” he commands, and I salute him like I’m showing respect to a drill sergeant, making him smile in the process.
“Yes, sir. Will do, sir,” I deadpan, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ll book it when I have time, and maybe on the weekend I’ll look into fancy vacation destinations.”
“You’re going to travel?” Caid asks, perking up from his relaxed position, eyeing me like he might perish right then and there if he doesn’t get my answer.
I shrug a shoulder. “I dunno. Just an idea to toy around with.”
“Huh. Gotcha,” he replies, forcing himself to relax again, though his shoulders remain taut. That’s weird. Sadly, the food coma is rapidly catching up to me, my eyes already drooping.
I catch a yawn with my palm, head rolling over the couch until it meets resistance. Pretty sure it’s landed on Baxter’s shoulder, but I simply don’t have it in me to move. He doesn’t seem to mind, shuffling until we’re both comfortable.
With every blink that lasts longer and longer, I mutter, “Thanks for dinner, guys.”
My words are slightly slurred already as the first dregs of sleep lure me into its clutches, and I fight it long enough to listen to three variations of “You’re welcome” and a grunt of acknowledgement from Rayne.
Unable to help the smile, I let it split across my face, finally falling back to sleep with a murmured string of words I couldn’t recall if you paid me all the money in the world. I’m out like a light within minutes, and it’s the best damned sleep I’ve had in a very long time.