Page 84 of Lucky Laces
“Not a liar,” he says, lightly swatting my hand with the spoon.“You saw my fridge, remember?”
I pause, thinking of the prepackaged meals he’d bought from a local chef I know a lot of the guys use for their food prep needs.“A bad cook doesn’t have perfectly diced bacon in his veggies.”
“It’s pancetta,” he says, using the spoon to scoop up one of the crispy cubes of deliciousness.
“And case in point for your chef skills.”I part my lips, he feeds me the piece, and I moan again.God, that’s delicious.“Also,” I say, “just because you’re busy and take advantage of Evelyn’s business, doesn’t mean you can’t cook.”
“How’d you know that I use Evelyn?”
“Do I need to remind you that I saw your fridge…and your freezer?”
His lips twitch and he kisses the top of my head.“Okay, fine.I use Evie.”
Evie.A blip of jealousy sneaks through me, taking me by surprise.
When was the last time I was jealous over a man?
I stay pressed against Huddy’s side as I contemplate that…and come up short.I don’t recall another instance of jealousy.
And I’m so lost in that thought, I miss him noticing my stillness, only distantly hear him ask, “DeeDee?What is it?”
“I’m jealous,” I blab like an idiot.“I’m jealous of Evelyn, even though I’ve met her and she’s really nice and, yeah, she’s shy and it’s hard to get her to talk sometimes, but I reallylikeher.“I just—” I pull out of his hold, eyes wide, hands fussing with my ponytail, so completely out of sorts that I don’t even know how to go on.
“What?”he asks.
“Howam I jealous?I’m never jealous.”
He doesn’t move for a long moment.
Then he reaches forward and turns off the stove.
The look in his eyes has me skittering back a step.
“Hudson—”
“You’re jealous.”
A statement.Not a question.
I can’t read what’s in his eyes, and my stomach clenches.“I know you wouldn’t start anything with me if you were seeing someone else,” I blather.“And I’m not saying this is a logical feeling or anything.I just…”
“You’re jealous.”
Still a statement.
But I suddenly realize it’s actually atriumphantstatement.
“I—”
He sets the spoon down and stalks toward me.“Fuck, DeeDee,” he murmurs, banding his arms around my middle and yanking me close.“Do you know how often I wanted to punch something when someone mentioned your asshole of an ex-fiancé?”
Mutely, I shake my head.
“A-fucking-lot.”His mouth curves.“Pretty much anytime anyone mentioned the prick.”
“I—”
But there my words go, flitting away again, making it impossible for me to concentrate.
