Page 8 of Ropers Can't Tie Knots
What the fuck is wrong with me?
three
Gabe
Ionly meant to lie down for a quick nap, but when I wake up, night has fallen.
I clearly needed the rest, but when my stomach growls, I remember Hunter’s dinner invitation and hope he saved me some. I wasn’t expecting him to be so…puzzling. But after laughing and trading barbs before his admission that he didn’t want me here, he softened right in front of me.
Like he knew he was rude simply because he could be, and maybe reconsidered his actions. I certainly don’t mind giving people second chances, and I can’t fault him for being honest. But if we’re to live under the same roof together, even for a few months, we might snap at each other more often than I’d like.
After changing into a T-shirt and lounge pants, I creep down the stairs towards the kitchen. There’s still a light on in the dining room, and Hunter sits at the table—shirtless. A glass of amber liquid close by, he punches numbers into an old adding machine, missing the paper roll, before taking a sip from his glass. Something about the scene makes me pause and wonder how many layers there are to this man, because I wasn’t expecting to find him using an adding machine and sipping what I hope is whiskey.
He notices me then and after swallowing, he says, “You were asleep when dinner was ready. There’s a plate in the fridge for you if you’re hungry.”
Hunter shuffles through a pile of papers and clips them together after scribbling a note on top.
“I only meant to take a nap. Thank you. I’m starving.”
He nods and gets back to his task, jabbing at numbers with a chewed-up pencil, and I make my way to the kitchen. When I open the fridge, I find a dinner plate covered in tinfoil, and it reminds me of my sister. A sharp pang of loss hits me, and I shake it off as I peel off the foil to find a grilled chicken breast, broccoli, and mashed potatoes.
Nothing fancy by any means, but it’s food cooked in a home and not takeout. After sliding the plate in the microwave, I find a glass in the cupboard and pour a glass of water, before guessing the cutlery drawer right on the first try.
While the microwave works its magic, I look around the well-loved kitchen. It’s spotless without a single thing out of place. A small table sits snug in one corner with a single chair, and I find it odd that there’s only one.
The microwave sounds and I carefully remove the plate. With the plate in my hand, I turn to the single chair first, but change course after a few steps instead. His earlier invite was to join him for dinner, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m just late.
He raises an eyebrow when I sit but says nothing, and I wonder if he always eats at the table in the kitchen by himself.
“Is it okay for me to eat here? I just thought you might want company, and I’ve been eating alone for years, so another person would be great.”
Hunter puffs a breath, but he doesn’t tell me to leave. I cut into the chicken, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find it stuffed with cheese and more broccoli.
“It’s stuffed! This is so good.” I say around a mouthful, and this time a ghost of a smile plays on his lips.
“It’s just chicken, but thank you.”
Hunter sips his drink as I eat, and he says nothing else. He just watches me, and it doesn’t even feel creepy. Part of me wants to make a show of it and discover a way to make eating cheese-stuffed chicken erotic just to see if he’d still turn me down, but there’s a vibe here, and it’s not a flirty one.
Something has changed since I arrived.
“Can I ask what you’re working on? Looks like you’re behind on your taxes or something.”
Hunter takes a sip again, his deep brown eyes giving nothing away. My gaze slides to his naked chest. He’s toned, the evidence of manual labour etched into his upper body distinctly differently than muscles born in a gym. His complexion is either on the darker side naturally, or he spends a lot of time out in the sun with his shirt off.
Which is a thought I shouldn’t entertain right now while I cough around a mouthful of food.
“Do you need help?” His concern is unexpected as he rises to come closer. I sputter and take a drink while motioning I’m fine, and Hunter returns to his seat. After a moment, his attention returns to the papers in front of him. Scribbling a note on one pile, clipping them and moving to the next.
“What kind of lawyer are you, anyway?”
“A good one.”
Hunter raises his gaze to mine, and I grin. “It’s true.”
“Okay, Gabe.” Hunter leans back in his chair, tapping his chewed-up pencil on the table. “What kind of law are you good at? Is that better?”
Placing my cutlery on my plate, I lean back in the chair to study the man. My gaze then slides to the piles of papers and the adding machine before going back to Hunter. Ah, there it is. Whatever these papers are about is something legal. Maybe he’s in financial trouble.
