Page 69 of Lorcan
I snorted.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. She’s a good woman.”
“True.” I sipped the ice water with a sliver of lemon. “Her next contract is for some market-rate rental-housing project. The owner of the company, Beatrice O’Halloran, landed a huge contract. Margins are going to be tight, and the women won’t be making much money.”
“I heard about this project. Aren’t they teaming up with the company Foster works with?”
“Arnav’s husband? Yeah.” I fingered the napkin again. “Riley said something about Foster taking more leave because they’re fostering a couple of kids right now. She didn’t share the details, but I gleaned it’s a tough situation.” I sighed. “Arnav mentioned it during the trial.”
“It’s great Foster has that option.” Cody turned off the burner and moved the wok to another burner. He checked the brown rice and apparently—if the grin on his face was any indication—was pleased. He brought the pot to the plates. Just before he scooped the rice, he eyed me. “How hungry?”
“Uh, starved?”
“Cool. I made lots.” He scooped two hefty spoonsful onto the plates. Then he added a touch of lime to the stir-fry and then apportioned it as well.
The kitchen smelled amazing.
He turned off the vent above the stovetop.
The silence took me by surprise.
I hadn’t realized how loudly we’d been speaking.
He handed me a plate. “Do you want to sit at the table or stay where you are? These stools don’t get nearly enough use.”
If we sit on the stools, then I don’t have to look you in the eye. “This is fine.” I gestured for him to sit next to me.
He did. With a sigh.
I eyed him.
He waved me off. “I did a workout in the gym after work. I’m a bit sore.”
“That’s why your hair’s damp.”
He ran his fingers through the silky strands.
I knew they were silky because I might’ve grasped them when we made love last night—after I’d tucked away my paws and ears for safekeeping.
“I used a hair dryer, but I wanted to have the rice cooking when you got home.”
After a moment, I brushed my knuckles over his bare forearm. “You’re too good to me.”
He grinned. “Self-preservation. I was starving.” He batted his eyelashes at me. “But I’m glad you stopped on the way home to pick up more of your things.”
I rolled my eyes. “You keep plying me with food. Sunday night we had tacos. Last night we had fish and chips.” Again, I brushed my hand against his. “And you sent me to work with leftover spaghetti because you didn’t want me heating up fish in the shared microwave.”
“Again, self-preservation. I don’t want to get an earful from Riley.” He grinned.
“I haven’t told her about us.”
“And you don’t have to.” He didn’t bat an eye. “You can say as much, or as little, as you want. I’ll never pressure you for more.”
“Except practically moving in.”
He shrugged. “I’ve discovered I like having someone in my bed, butpleasedon’t consider that pressure.”
It staggered me that he hadn’t had a long-term relationship before. He was a guy who screamed permanence.
