Page 14 of Egg Me On

The rag in my hands ripped in half. Silas chuckled as he walked away, the bastard.

I took a deep breath, forcing my hands to steady as I set the destroyed rag aside. A half-hour in a confined space with Aiden and the entire staff watching? That wouldn’t go well.

The conference room was already half-full when I stalked in, the familiar faces of my coworkers barely registering as I scanned for one in particular. I claimed a chair at the far end of the table, positioning myself with a clear view of the door. Let them think I was being antisocial—wouldn't be the first time. Truth was, I needed to see Aiden the moment he walked in. Needed to prepare myself for the sucker punch his presence had become. I drummed my fingers against the scarred wooden table, counting seconds like they were prison sentences, waiting for the inevitable moment when he'd appear and make the air in my lungs feel too thick to breathe.

Silas caught my eye from across the room, his knowing smirk making me want to punch something. He'd taken the seat at the head of the table, Marcus beside him already gesturing animatedly about something. Dylan and Liv sat together, heads bent over a tablet, probably discussing some electrical nightmare they were tackling. I tuned them all out, focused solely on the empty doorway.

Then he was there, and fuck, it shouldn't have hit me like this. Shouldn't have made my heart slam against my ribs like I was redlining an engine. But there he was, leaning against the doorframe, all hesitant smile and lean lines in those stupid skinny jeans that hugged his thighs like they were painted on. His hair was slightly damp at the temples like he'd rushed over from the food truck, and his t-shirt today read "EGGS-ACTLY WHAT YOU NEED" across his chest. Ridiculous.

Fucking ridiculous how much I wanted him.

Our eyes met for a brief second, and his smile faltered before brightening again. He gave a little wave, and I nodded once, sharply, trying to ignore the heat crawling up my neck. I slouched deeper in my chair, forcing my face into its usual neutral mask. The chair beside me was empty—the only empty one left in the room besides the one at the far end near Marcus. For a moment, Aiden hesitated in the doorway, his eyes darting between the two available seats.

Choose me, I thought, the intensity of my own desperation scaring the shit out of me. Sit your ass down here where you belong.

But Aiden, after a moment's hesitation, moved toward the other end of the table. Toward Silas and Marcus, sliding into the empty seat with a casual, "Hey, guys," like he hadn't just put a knife between my ribs.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. Of course he didn't want to sit next to me. I'd spent the past week alternating between grunting at him and pretending he didn't exist. Why would he choose to sit beside the surly asshole when he could bask in Marcus's charismatic glow and Silas's steady attention?

“Maybe he would have sat next to you if you hadn’t been glaring at him like you wanted to murder him,” Liv whispered, elbowing me.

She probably had a point. But I didn’t want to murder him at all. I wanted to bend him over the table and fuck him until he was a quivering mess of need beneath me.

Marcus clapped Aiden on the shoulder, leaning in to say something that made Aiden laugh—that full-bodied laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his head tilt back, exposing the long line of his throat. I watched the movement, transfixed by the bob of his Adam's apple, the flash of white teeth. He had a tiny mole just below his left ear that most people wouldn't notice. I'd noticed. Had cataloged every fucking detail about him like some obsessive stalker.

"Alright, let's get started," Silas called, bringing the room to attention. I forced myself to look away from Aiden, staring instead at the scarred tabletop, tracing a deep groove with my thumbnail.

Marcus launched into a rundown of upcoming events. I barely registered the words, too aware of Aiden across the table, the way he leaned forward with genuine interest, occasionally asking questions that showed he was actually paying attention to the business side of things. He cared about more than his shop. He cared about us.

"And that brings us to the big one," Marcus said, his excitement palpable. "The annual FRMC campout is next weekend. Three days in the mountains, great riding, great company. Last year was epic, but this year's gonna be even better. I need all hands on deck, full staff is required to attend unless you have a very good excuse. That includes you, Cash."

Murmurs of agreement echoed around the table. I'd skipped last year's campout, claiming a deadline on a custom build. Truth was, I didn't do group activities if I could avoid them. Too many people, too much forced socialization.

"So, Aiden," Marcus continued, turning to him with that megawatt smile. "Here comes the real reason I invited you to this meeting. I’m hoping you’d be willing to cook for us at the campout. We usually pay a caterer, so why not the chef in our own backyard?”

“Me? Really?” Aiden looked startled, but pleased.

“It’s nothing fancy, just your breakfast magic for a bunch of hungry bikers, and something for lunch and dinner that’ll feed a crowd. Brats and chili, that sort of thing."

I watched Aiden as Marcus went over the budget, saw the way his face lit up like someone had flipped a switch, all eager enthusiasm and genuine pleasure at being included. My chest tightened at the sight.

Why was he so damn cute? And why the fuck did it make me want to cuddle him… while also fucking him. Cuddlefuck him?

"That sounds like fun! I'd love to," he was saying, already nodding. Even from across the room, I could see the wheels turning in his head, and was willing to bet he was planning meals already. "I've got these Dutch oven recipes I've been wanting to try, and I make a mean campfire hash—"

"Yum, I love a good hash," Marcus interrupted, looking like he might ask Aiden to go cook him one right there. "Seriously, you're saving us. Last year, the guy Silas hired burned everything."

A groan went around the table, and everyone started talking at once, sharing stories of how bad the food had been.

"You can ride with me in the sidecar if you want," Dylan offered, leaning forward with a grin that was too fucking friendly. Almost flirty. "And we can fit all your cooking gear. I'll even let you wear my spare helmet."

I watched Aiden's face brighten at the offer, watched his lips part to accept, and something inside me snapped like an overworked chain. The possessiveness that had been building all week surged through me, hot and urgent and completely beyond my control.

My chair scraped loudly against the floor as I stood abruptly. All eyes turned to me, but I only saw Aiden's, wide with surprise.

"No," I growled, the word emerging rougher than I'd intended. "Aiden rides with me."

The room fell silent. I could feel Silas and Marcus exchanging looks, could sense Dylan's surprise and Liv's poorly concealed amusement. But all I cared about was Aiden's reaction—the way his cheeks flushed pink, the slight parting of his lips, the quickening of his breath that only I seemed to notice.

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