maybe she was. Michael had told her this several times, but she hadn’t seen it. Corinne remembered thinking that Wes was juvenile for scraping off the “sham” on Michael’s bottle of Axe Dual 2-in-1 Shampoo & Conditioner in their shower.
Well, it was juvenile, but it made Michael laugh for a month.
“The steaks will be ready in less than an hour,” Wes said, stepping inside the house ahead of her. “Don’t even think about disappearing in your room. If you fall asleep again, I’m giving yours to Buck.”
Corinne halted in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. She was half-tempted to head to her room without a word, but she thought better of it. After everything he’d done for her in the last couple of days, that would be worse than ungrateful.
Still he couldn’t just boss her around. That wouldn’t do.
“So, do I have leave, Your Grace, to go take a shower?” she asked with no small amount of sarcasm.
Wes turned and eyed her over his shoulder with a wicked grin.
“Granted.”
Chapter 12
W es congratulated himself as he rinsed the asparagus. He’d gotten Corinne out of the house for a few minutes of fresh air; he was about to ensure that she ate a real meal, and she was currently showering.
This last point was difficult to push from his mind. The rush of water from the bathroom carried through the small house, distracting him while he worked. As he chopped off the white ends of the asparagus stalks, he’d hear the irregular thrumming of water on the tub floor, and he imagined—without meaning to—the spill of water over Corinne’s hair and down her shoulders.
The third time this happened, Wes grabbed his phone, connected it to the speakers at the little work station in the living room that held Corinne’s Mac, and tapped his music library. “On To The Next” by Jay Z flooded the house, decimating any other sounds. Wes helped himself to a beer and stepped in time to the base that shook the windows as he brushed olive oil over the asparagus.
He’d just sprinkled the ribeyes with Tony Chachere’s when Corinne appeared in the kitchen doorway in yoga pants and a t-shirt, toweling her hair, eyes wide.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” she shouted over the music. She sounded pissed, but Wes thought she might have been fighting a smile.
“What?!?” Wes mimed a shrug, unable to help himself, and he took a sip of his Abita to hide his amusement.
Corinne narrowed her eyes at him in what he knew was a mock scowl, and she turned on her heel and headed out of the kitchen. He thought she’d just storm back to her room, but when the opening notes of Eminem’s “The Monster” cut out and were replaced by Arctic Monkeys’ “Fluorescent Adolescent” at the same deafening volume, he laughed to himself and carried the tray of asparagus outside.
Night had fallen, and the air was chilly. The floodlights off the sunroom gave the grill more than enough light, and Wes could see that the coals were ready. He could still hear the music from inside the house, so loud it could have been a party, and the smell of grill smoke and the taste of beer gave him a head rush of memories that nearly blew him away.
Michael .
“It’s almost like you are here,” Wes said aloud. Too late, he scanned the yard to make sure no one could hear him, but he was alone, and the feeling—the pull of talking to Michael—was too strong to resist. It was like drafting behind a semi instead of riding against a headwind. No work at all. Just flow. He told Michael about his first day as Corinne’s roommate.
“I’m looking after her,” he said to the night air. “But I sure wish you were here to do it instead.”
After he’d turned the veggies a time or two, he pushed them to the edge of the grill and went back in the house to grab the steaks. Corinne’s music was still playing—M83 sang about waiting in a car—but she had turned the volume down to a conversational level, and Wes could hear the blow dryer
Well, it was juvenile, but it made Michael laugh for a month.
“The steaks will be ready in less than an hour,” Wes said, stepping inside the house ahead of her. “Don’t even think about disappearing in your room. If you fall asleep again, I’m giving yours to Buck.”
Corinne halted in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. She was half-tempted to head to her room without a word, but she thought better of it. After everything he’d done for her in the last couple of days, that would be worse than ungrateful.
Still he couldn’t just boss her around. That wouldn’t do.
“So, do I have leave, Your Grace, to go take a shower?” she asked with no small amount of sarcasm.
Wes turned and eyed her over his shoulder with a wicked grin.
“Granted.”
Chapter 12
W es congratulated himself as he rinsed the asparagus. He’d gotten Corinne out of the house for a few minutes of fresh air; he was about to ensure that she ate a real meal, and she was currently showering.
This last point was difficult to push from his mind. The rush of water from the bathroom carried through the small house, distracting him while he worked. As he chopped off the white ends of the asparagus stalks, he’d hear the irregular thrumming of water on the tub floor, and he imagined—without meaning to—the spill of water over Corinne’s hair and down her shoulders.
The third time this happened, Wes grabbed his phone, connected it to the speakers at the little work station in the living room that held Corinne’s Mac, and tapped his music library. “On To The Next” by Jay Z flooded the house, decimating any other sounds. Wes helped himself to a beer and stepped in time to the base that shook the windows as he brushed olive oil over the asparagus.
He’d just sprinkled the ribeyes with Tony Chachere’s when Corinne appeared in the kitchen doorway in yoga pants and a t-shirt, toweling her hair, eyes wide.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” she shouted over the music. She sounded pissed, but Wes thought she might have been fighting a smile.
“What?!?” Wes mimed a shrug, unable to help himself, and he took a sip of his Abita to hide his amusement.
Corinne narrowed her eyes at him in what he knew was a mock scowl, and she turned on her heel and headed out of the kitchen. He thought she’d just storm back to her room, but when the opening notes of Eminem’s “The Monster” cut out and were replaced by Arctic Monkeys’ “Fluorescent Adolescent” at the same deafening volume, he laughed to himself and carried the tray of asparagus outside.
Night had fallen, and the air was chilly. The floodlights off the sunroom gave the grill more than enough light, and Wes could see that the coals were ready. He could still hear the music from inside the house, so loud it could have been a party, and the smell of grill smoke and the taste of beer gave him a head rush of memories that nearly blew him away.
Michael .
“It’s almost like you are here,” Wes said aloud. Too late, he scanned the yard to make sure no one could hear him, but he was alone, and the feeling—the pull of talking to Michael—was too strong to resist. It was like drafting behind a semi instead of riding against a headwind. No work at all. Just flow. He told Michael about his first day as Corinne’s roommate.
“I’m looking after her,” he said to the night air. “But I sure wish you were here to do it instead.”
After he’d turned the veggies a time or two, he pushed them to the edge of the grill and went back in the house to grab the steaks. Corinne’s music was still playing—M83 sang about waiting in a car—but she had turned the volume down to a conversational level, and Wes could hear the blow dryer
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