Page 5 of Ruger
“Thanks, Marigold,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “You’re the best houseguest I’ve ever had.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who has many houseguests,” she teases, and that tiny bit of brattiness only makes me want her more.
“You got me there,” I reply as I smile despite myself. “I’ll be out to help soon.”
“You don’t have to worry about that; I can manage.”
Then, before I can say anything else, I hear her retreat. I imagine she did it so I wouldn’t have any room to argue. As innocent as she appears to be, Marigold’s got a playful, bold spark in her. I’d love to see more of it.
Actually, I know I’m going to see more of it. I just don’t know how I’m going to rationalize it with Blade and the MC. That’s a problem for later, though. For now, I’ll jerk off as often as it takes to keep my hands to myself. Though I can already tell that’s going to be an issue.
God, I hope I figure out a way to keep myself under control while she stays here.
Chapter 4
Marigold
It isn’t that I’m expecting Ruger to join me while I’m cooking dinner, but I thought that he was going to at least come and keep me company. Instead, I sear steaks, bake potatoes, and steam broccoli from a frozen bag I found in the back of his freezer. I sigh at the lack of dinner rolls, but it’s not like I could be choosy. There wasn’t much in the way of food here. If I had to guess, I’d say Ruger lives on takeout and motorcycle club barbecues.
Ruger finally makes his appearance as I’m plating our meals. He’s freshly showered, droplets of water still crawling down his neck and being absorbed by the collar of his very soft looking black t-shirt. I have to look away from him, my face burning.
I was so focused on making dinner that I didn’t hear the shower running. It’s probably for the best, though. If I was imagining his strong body all soaped up and under the hot water, I think I’d have burned everything.
“Smells good,” he says as he sidles up beside me at the counter. “Broccoli? Where’d you get that?”
“I found it in your freezer,” I say, turning to look at him and immediately regretting it.
Well, not really. He’s gorgeous, probably one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in real life. No wonder Blade kept me away from him at the MC family gatherings I attended. Iwouldn’t have known what to do with myself; Istilldon’t know what to do with myself!
“Huh. Guess I should probably go in there more often,” he murmurs as he walks to the fridge and pulls out two sodas.
“Well, I mean if you want frozen peas that have been used as an icepack and a package of freezer burnt french fries, you should definitely check it out,” I say, picking up our plates and carrying them over to his dining table.
My joke makes him laugh, and I feel a shock of pride at the sound. It’s warm, radiating from his chest and settling in mine. I want to hear more of it.
“These are medium,” I say a little breathlessly as I settle the dishes onto the plate. “I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I just made them right in the middle. I hope that’s okay.”
What is this man doing to me? How did my crush on him become all-consuming in such a short amount of time?
“That’s perfect,” he says, pushing my drink toward me and settling in on the opposite side of the table. “Actually, you’re perfect. I don’t think I could ask for a better housemate.”
If he were anyone else, I’d assume that he was just trying to flirt with me. I’m not very good at picking things like that up, but I’m not stupid—being called ‘perfect’ is an obvious flirtation. With Ruger, it doesn’t feel like that, though. Instead, I can tell that he’s being genuine.
Somehow, that makes my heart thud even more than the alternative.
“So,” Ruger says, smirking as he begins to cut into his steak. Apparently, he’s noticed how flustered I am. I do wear my heart on my sleeve even though I’d prefer that it stayed in mychest. “You must be pretty damn smart working at the library, right?”
I bristle at the assumption. I like to think I’m smart, but there’s no good answer to that question. There’s so much I don’t know. So, I say, “I think ‘well-read' is the phrase you’re looking for.”
“Aren’t those the same thing?” he challenges.
“Not exactly,” I say, busying myself with my meal to avoid his intense gaze. He’s looking at me like I’m something special, and it makes me feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle. “I think smarts are relative. Just because I read books doesn’t make me some kind of genius. I’m sure there’s tons of stuff you know that I don’t.”
“Oh?” he asks, and after a beat I realize that what I said could definitely be taken as meaning something else.
“I– I mean,” I begin, tripping over my words and nearly choking on the food in my mouth. “It’s… I don’t know anything about motorcycles, but you probably know almost everything about them. And you work at the garage don’t you? You– you probably know a lot about all kinds of vehicles.”
Ruger chuckles again, but it doesn’t feel derisive. In fact, I might even say he sounds charmed. His joy is enough to soothe the icy sting of embarrassment.
