“I like your honesty, but your argument about guys and girls can’t just be friends is invalid. Error 404,” she said.
I brooded for a moment. “I think about you all the fucking time.”
I froze when she wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. So unexpectedly. So suddenly. Then I relaxed and smiled when she rested her cheek on my back, rubbed like a cat.
I fucking loved that.
“You’re so random. I love it. But let’s not argue about my friends. I only have a few,” she said against my back. “Can I help?”
I let out a sigh. “Here.” I gave her the bowl.
“Whoa. Are we going to eat all of these?” She goggled at the bowl.
“I only cracked eight. There’s still four left in that one carton,” I pointed out.
“That’s a lot.”
“How many do you usually cook?”
She looked up from the bowl. “I don’t cook. Ever. It scares me.”
I sighed again. “All right, just pick out the egg shells.”
She scrunched her nose at the bowl. “You’re not very good at cracking. I don’t think I am either, but I can fix this. I’m an expert at picking out eggshells.”
But she just made it worse. She punctured the yolks, making it hard to find the eggshells. She laughed, giggling like a little girl messing up her chores and unapologetically having fun with it.
“Let’s just cook it like this!” She threw her hands up in defeat. “This is a hard job and these eggs are rude.”
I shook my head at her, chuckling because she was so damn adorable. “Watch this for me. I’m going to make toast for your sandwich.”
“Don’t leave me here. I’ll burn this place down! Cam!”
“Calm down. I’m just right here.”
“Didn’t you attend Nice Guy Class 101? You don’t tell a girl to calm down.”
“I’m not a nice guy.”
I opened the fridge, searching for condiments for her sandwich. I had nothing here but water bottles and a box of leftover pizza I’d had last week.
I spotted my cooler sitting on the floor. How…caring and thoughtful and just damned sweet was she? I knew I was smiling as I opened it, grabbed a sandwich, and scarfed it down. Then I sniffed something in the air.
Something burning.
“Holy shit, Kara, what the hell?”
I hurried to the stove and turned it off.
“Did you turn the burner on high?”
She lifted her head from the bowl to glower at me. “Do you see anyone else here? Of course it was me!”
“Well, you don’t turn the stove on that high!”
“It was taking too long! And you left me here! I told you I can’t cook!”
“For a minute! Jesus.”
“Stop yelling at me!”
“You’re yelling at me too! Fuck!”
We looked at each other. Stopped. She laughed first. A big, boisterous laugh that shook her shoulders. She doubled over, holding her stomach. I laughed with her, gathering her in my arms because I couldn’t help it.
The pan was still smoking. Soon the fire alarm was going to blare if I didn’t do something. Blowing out a breath, I lifted the pan from the stove and yelped. Cursed continuously when I burned my hand.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
I’d forgotten that this pan was metal—what was I thinking buying this crap?—and that I needed a pot holder to hold it.
I was too busy watching her, too busy smiling at her—I was forgetting every damn thing.
“You okay?” She ran to the sink, turned the faucet on. “Come here, you poor baby.”
“This is all your fault.” I scowled at her.
“How is this my fault?” She glared back.
“You like to argue with me all the time.”
“No I don’t,” she shot back. “You’re the one who likes to argue with me all the fucking time.”
I raised my brows at her. “See what I mean?”
She gave me the death stare for a few seconds. “You make me want to fucking curse all the time. Why are you so argumentative?”
I raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and beckoned me to her. Still scowling, I stopped in front of the sink. I watched as she held onto my wrist, placed my throbbing hand under the blast of cold water. Her fingers were long and slender, and I wasn’t sure which felt good—her touch or the cold water on my skin.
It wasn’t even a burn. I barely touched the hot part of the handle. I removed my hand from the water and touched her mouth with my thumb, spreading the water onto her bottom lip. It trickled down her chin. We stared into each other’s eyes, savoring this moment of aloneness together. I leaned down and kissed her lips. Sucked the water from her chin.
“You’re so good at that,” she said languorously.
“At what?”
“Kissing me.”
“Want another one?”
She blinked slowly. “Food,” she said loudly, stepping away. “Kiss later.”
I smirked and turned back to the counter, at the mess we’d made.
“We can just boil them,” she suggested.
“But then we have to peel the shells off,” I said.
“I know, right?”
We looked at each other again. She bit her lip, her eyes shining with laughter.
“We don’t know what the hell we’re doing,” she said, wiping her eyes on my shirt. “And it’s fine because it feels great to be here with you right now.” She sniffed. “I’m still hungry though.”
“All right. Sit over there and be quiet.”
She gave me her serious face, not letting it pass that I was telling her what to do again, but she couldn’t follow through and laughed again.
“It better be good, Bigfoot.”
She hopped onto the kitchen island. I washed the pan and wiped it dry. Put it on the stove. I threw out the egg mixture we’d both messed up and grabbed the carton of eggs. I cracked them carefully this time.
“How did you survive without cooking your meals?” she asked.
“Takeout. Lean meat, sandwiches mostly. Fresh veggies, fruits.”
There weren’t any eggshell bits this time. I scrambled them with a fork and poured the mixture in the pan. The satisfying crackle made me smile. I popped a couple pieces of bread in the toaster.
I noticed she hadn’t said anything for a while. I looked over my shoulder and found her watching me. There was sadness in her eyes.
“Kara?”
“My mom,” she started, her voice thick. “She used to cook all the time, but she never really liked it. Eggs and bread every morning. And then one day, it all stopped.”
This I wanted to know. Everything. About her.
“She left when I was just a kid. Dylan barely remembers her.” She took in a deep breath, released it slowly. “But I do.”
“What do you remember?”
“That she was a bitch.” She gave out a small laugh, but it was strained. “I remember one thing. It was her birthday, and my dad was going to take her out to a fancy dinner. I remember he bought her a fur coat. She’d always been hinting at him to buy her one. You know, hints like she’d cut out pictures from magazines and leave them lying around the house for my dad to see. Or say something like ‘This coat would really look pretty on me.’ Stuff like that. She never said what she wanted straight out. I don’t mind using the hint technique, but she was over the top. It was always a guessing game with her.”
She kinda did the same thing, I thought. Like her mother with her cut-out pictures, Kara did with her Post-it Note reminders in her home, except that instead of hints, Kara’s messages were direct and told exactly what she wanted. And I adored that about her.
“It probably drove your dad nuts.”
She lifted her long leg
s onto the counter, crossing them in front of her. Her eyes blazed with anger. I stared.
She gestured with her arm. “I think those eggs are done.”
I turned back to the stove. She was right. I reached for the spatula and plate, scooped out the eggs.
“No,” she said. “It didn’t drive my dad nuts. My dad’s a very patient man. He loved her.”
I didn’t tell her I had no clue what that was like. I didn’t think I’d ever seen my parents hug each other. They couldn’t even stand being in the same room.
“But on her birthday, he got her this fur coat. She was really excited. She unwrapped the gift box really, really slowly, carefully pulling off each piece of tape. Folding the paper meticulously. I wrapped that fur coat myself and I wished to God I’d only used three pieces of tape.”
I chuckled. “How many pieces of tape did you use?”
I grabbed the toast and fixed her sandwich, brought the plate to her.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling up at me. She took a huge bite. It was satisfying to watch her eat. Maybe I’d look up vegetarian recipes and cook her a couple of meals just to see her eat more. It shouldn’t be too hard.
Yeah right. Probably burn the whole place down. I’d stick with sandwiches for now.
“Lots of tape,” she continued. “It took her a while. And when at last it was all unwrapped, she shook it out. And you know what she did?”
I waited for her to continue while I got her a bottled water from the fridge. I didn’t have anything else. I should ask her what she liked to drink, other than coffee, and stock up. For next time.
“What?”
“She went outside and threw that fur coat—that expensive fucking coat that my dad had been saving up for—on the ground. Right on the dirt. And stomped on it. She broke my dad’s heart.
“You see, it wasn’t the fur coat she wanted. ‘I’ve been leaving hints every fucking day to you, Mike,’” she continued, her voice sounding higher than normal, copying her mother’s voice probably. “‘And you buy me this piece of shit coat? Did you get it for a bargain? Did you get it from a consignment shop? Someone owned this piece of shit before, and you dare give it to me as a present?’ Like she’s better than a queen and she levitates above everyone else because she’s so fucking special. My dad and I loved to shop at secondhand stores. I don’t care. I’m in love with a great outfit, but I’m well aware that what you put out into the world is more important than what you wear.”
I unscrewed the cap on the bottled water and handed it to her.
“I saw my dad’s face,” she continued. “He was hurt, and he got mad this time. Not because she didn’t like the coat, although that’s probably one of the reasons, but because Dylan and I were there, watching it all happen. She left him eventually for a vacuum salesman. Her loss.”
She drank water and placed the bottle on the counter. “It was hard for my dad to raise two kids on his own. So he got a job, saved up, then went into business with his older brother, Andrew.” She looked like she wanted to spit. “Another leech, if you ask me. He and my dad both own the garage. Fifty-fifty. You want to know why I work so hard? So I can buy him off. I already talked to Andrew about it, and we have a deal.”
“How much does he want for his share?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why?”
I looked at her, and I knew there was no way I could hide my intentions. Might as well tell her. She was too smart for her own good.
“I can give you the money.”
“Are you nuts? Hell no! Then all my hard work would’ve been for nothing. No. I’m so close. So close.”
“You didn’t get mad when you found out about the job at The Yard.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“I know I’m qualified for that job and I’m a hard worker. You couldn’t go wrong with someone like me.”
I nodded. “You’re more than qualified for that job.”
She grinned at me, then took a couple more bites of her sandwich, nodding in approval. “Not bad, Bigfoot.”
I grabbed her bottled water, tipped it to my mouth so she wouldn’t see my smile, and almost spilled.
She chewed for a minute. I knew she was busy contemplating something. Kara didn’t think quietly. Her face showed her emotions.
“Everyone is asking me why I work so hard. The people at work gossip about me, talking about why I do so much overtime and where my money goes. I don’t care. I can take all that. I’ve been bullied worse than that when I was younger. They think they can stop me, hurt me with harsh words, they better think again. I’m made of steel, baby. Steel. I’ve had worse, and that mean-girl bullying shit sure as hell won’t get to me.”
“They’re gossiping about you because you work hard?”
“I have seniority over them. When there’s OT available, I take it. Almost all the time. So they’re mad at me because they can’t. They think I’m a bitch, and you know what? I don’t give a crap. I don’t have time to join them at gatherings outside work either because I have a lot of shit to do. So on top of being a bitch, I heard I’m also a snob. Yummy. Get over it, bitches.”
I let out a small laugh. She was on a roll. I loved seeing the sparkle in her eyes, the fire and passion that always came out in everything she did.
“In my extended family, Dylan and I are the only ones who don’t have a degree. My dad doesn’t either. My mother running away with another man was the icing on the cake. So most of my relatives look down on us. I detest family dinners with them—especially with my dad’s brother, Andrew. They all feel superior. I hate condescending advice masked as concern and fake love. It’s so cheap. It’s crap. I reject it.”
I know, I thought but didn’t say anything.
She continued, “That breaks my dad’s heart because he loves those assholes. And it hurts me because I love my dad so much. Degrees and money could be useful, but they don’t buy morals or values or a heart. I get up every morning and force myself to work because I see that amazing man, my dad, working harder than anyone I’ve ever met from his family. I respect the hell out of him. I want to be like him.” Her voice cracked. “I work hard not because I want to prove to everyone that I can do it. I work hard because I want to prove to myself that I can do it. And I will. I can save my family from this. Money has always been tight. I can help my dad out. I can give him what he deserves. Dylan too. He’s always been a softie, and he takes it hard when people say bad things about my family. There are so many things that could stop me if I let them.”
She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath before lifting her gaze to mine. “But I can’t let anything bother me—I won’t. Because I don’t want to sacrifice my world just to be in other people’s. I want my own world, filled with all the people I care about.”
I watched her silently as she finished her sandwich, sipped water, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Like a little kid.
But she was a woman. A woman with the heart of a child. A child who wore her heart on her sleeve but had learned to protect it with thorns.
Was it a wonder why no matter how hard I tried to let her go, I couldn’t? Why I wanted desperately to be in her world?
“Kara,” I said gruffly. “Am I in it?”
She looked up, and our eyes met and held. Everything that I wanted, without knowing I had wanted it, was in her eyes.
“You know you are, Cam,” she whispered. “You just hid from me for a while. But you’re here now.”
I stepped forward. She wrapped her legs around my waist. I placed my hands on the small of her back, pulling her closer to me.
“I am,” I murmured. “I want to…stay.”
“Then stay.”
She rested her chin on my shoulder, wrapped her arms around my torso. “But I want you to do something for me.”
Anything. �
�What is it?”
“I want you to…accept the things that are true to me and don’t go behind my back to do what you think is best for me. I can work hard, take all the crap people dish out at me, and flick that shit off. Besides, I can dish it out harder. So don’t worry about Andrew. I don’t want you lending me money. I have savings.”
“All right. I must’ve put a dent in it with my motorcycle.”
“Well, I had to use my tuition for next semester.”
“Shit. I’m a son of a bitch. I’m paying you back.”
She pulled back. “Are you now?” Her tone said no. She played with the ends of my hair, twirling it around her finger. “You know I always wondered, ever since I saw you, what it would feel like to touch your hair. It’s so black. And perfectly curled and soft. What shampoo are you using?”
I chuckled. “Whatever’s in the bathroom.”
She pulled.
“Ouch. I don’t know. Whatever I can grab at the store. I’m not picky.”
She rested her cheek on my shoulder again, rubbed. “Hey, Cam?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Blackmailed me into driving you around. You didn’t need me. You have your own vehicle.”
“I…” I paused. She already knew why, but I knew she just wanted to hear me say it again, and I didn’t care because I was more than happy to do anything that would make her smile. “I think I just knew. I wanted you. I want you.”
“You mean that very first time you saw me?”
I stroked her back, kissing her shoulder. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I saw you that day, and I knew I had to see you again.”
“Well, keep seeing me and don’t go anywhere again.”
I nibbled on her shoulder.
“Cam?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m full and now I’m sleepy.”
“Come on, then.” I gripped her hips and lifted her up. She wrapped her arms and legs around me.
I laid her on the bed, stretched out beside her, gathering her in my arms.
“It feels so…new. Being here with you,” she said softly. “It feels right.”
Spitfire in Love Page 32