Page 10 of King of Rhythm
Moving alongside her to help, I grin at another thing we have in common. “It’s fine. I’m not a great cook either. Usually, my housekeeper takes pity on me and leaves me meals.”
Avery stills. “Housekeeper?”
I continue scooping broccoli and chicken onto the plate and keep my voice even. “Yes, I don’t particularly like doing housework either, so I have a housekeeper that comes three days a week to keep the place from becoming uninhabitable.”
She doesn’t have a dining room, so we take our plates and glasses of water over to a small kitchen table shoved up against a wall. “Or we could eat in the living room?” she offers glancing at the tight space.
“Here is fine,” I say, putting my plate down and moving around the table to pull out her chair for her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, biting down on her lower lip. Slipping into the only other seat, my feet ram into hers and I pull back.
“Sorry. Long leg problems.” Color fills her face, and she darts her eyes from my gaze. Without another word, she picks up her fork and eats.
I give her a few minutes before asking, “How was work today?”
Avery freezes, her blue eyes wide like a startled fawn’s. “It was work,” she finally says, lowering her eyes again.
“No,” I say, pushing back in my seat.
Her head jerks up.
“We’re not doing this,” I say, my eyes never leaving her. “If we’re going to date, we need to communicate, and that means not glossing over things. Something obviously happened today.”
I watch as my words sink in and the way her features shift from the internal debate raging within her. Her eyes narrow and, to my surprise, she laughs. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
Grinning, I scoot my chair back in. “I’ve learned not to. Yesterday we touched briefly on my temper. Years ago, I let it get the better of me, and simple communication would have prevented a lot of the mistakes I made while having a temper tantrum. I really try to limit those types of mistakes now.”
She leans over her plate, a teasing glitter in her eyes that I haven’t been treated to before. “Somehow, I can’t see you as the sort to throw yourself on the floor, kicking and screaming.”
“Try stomping out of a multi-million-dollar contract negotiation. How’s that for an epic fit?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and smiling. After all these years I can now laugh and joke over it, but if I spend too long thinking back on the spoiled, immature brat I once was it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Her fork clatters to the table, a puddle of orange sauce forming under it. “No way band teachers make that much!”
“This was before my band teacher days. Something I want to tell you about.” I raise a finger and point it at her. “But only if we’re on the same page here about being open and honest with each other.”
Avery picks up her fork and dabs up the dripped sauce. “I’ll try,” she says, not meeting my gaze and poking at her food. After a moment, she stops pushing her food around and shyly peeks up at me. “You might have noticed that I’m not the best at this people stuff.”
“People stuff,” I repeat, giving her a nod and trying not to show my excitement that she’s opening up about this already. “We are people, and we do stuff.”
Her expressive eyes roll, and she fights a grin, the reaction I was hoping for as I don’t want her to stress over this.
“People stuff as in this.” She gestures between us. “Sitting and having a meal and a conversation. Here in my apartment, just the two of us isn’t bad. Last night was manageable as well, mostly because we’ve chatted before. I’m a happy introvert and don’t let a lot of people into my space.”
“I’m honored.”
Avery’s lips dip down in a frown.
I’m on my feet and around to her side of the table in an instant, my hand on the back of her chair as I loom over her. “I’m not being sarcastic. You’re letting me into your world, it’s one of the highest honors you can give someone. So, thank you.”
Her mouth parts as she stares up at me, emotions flying across her face. A flash of heat in her blue eyes is all the warning I get before she says, “Fuck waiting.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
AVERY
Bryce leans over me, giving me an excellent view of the strong column of his throat, his tempting lips beautifully framed by his mustache and beard, and the rugged beauty of his face. Never would I have dreamed that this gorgeous man would be in my house and saying half the things he is to me.
His spicy scent invading my nose and making my mouth water reminds me that this is no dream. He really is in my kitchen and telling me that he wants in my life.
