Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, I can’t say what I’m feeling first. Not when I promised Kendrick I wouldn’t turn into Tracy on him. So now, I’m determined to coerce him into saying whatever he might be feeling, without him realizing I’ve cleverly lured him, the horse, to water and, hopefully, dunked his head into the trough and forcefully made him drink.
I press a button for the oven timer and report to Laila, “Okay, the timer’s set for the pine nuts. Now what?”
“Set water to boil for the pasta.”
“It’s already going.”
“Perfect.”
“I guess it’s time to cook the chicken breasts, huh?”
“Did you pound them already?”
“Almost as hard as Kendrick pounds me.”
We both snicker.
Thank goodness for our conversation yesterday in her dressing room. When she told me what I’d described about my feelings for Kendrick were the same as hers for Savage—her husband, her life partner, her ride or die—a lightbulb went off in my head. I consider Savage and Laila couple goals, so when I suddenly realized what they have is what I feel with Kendrick, I felt something crack wide open inside me. And then, when Cooper came in and we had that conversation that ended in me realizing I didn’t care about the past anymore, only my future—with Kendrick—that was it. I realized in that moment, without a doubt, I’m desperately in love with Kendrick Cook. Nobody and nothing else matters to me. I love him, and I have to make him love me back. Through any means necessary.
And so, after Laila and I were done shooting our scenes with her team, I pulled her aside and poured my heart out to her without holding back. At which point, Laila helped me concoct the plan for me to cook Kendrick a romantic meal while he’s at C-Bomb’s for a poker party and make him spill his guts to me first.
“Oh! Savage just texted he’s leaving poker night,” Laila reports. “Did Kendrick text you, too?”
I check my phone. “Fuck. Yes. So soon? He told me he’d be home around nine.” I glance at the clock on the oven. 8:35. And since it takes at least a half-hour to get from C-Bomb’s house to here, depending on traffic, he’s right on time.
Before I have a chance to say another word to Laila, another text arrives from Kendrick:
KC: I’ll pick up food for us on my way home, cutie. Tacos sound good?
I scream.
“What?” Laila gasps out. “Did you cut your finger off? Burn yourself?”
“Kendrick texted he’s picking up tacos on his way home.”
“Jesus, Ruby. I thought you’d maimed yourself.”
“Sorry. No, I’ve still got all my fingers and toes, and I’ve somehow managed to get my chicken pieces into a hot skillet without incident.”
“Never scream like that again. At least, not while you’re cooking. You gave me a heart attack.”
“Hang on. I need to text him back.”
Me: No need to stop for food, hot stuff. I went to the store and got some awesome sandwich fixings. I’ll make us Ruby Deluxes!
KC: HUZZAH! You’re a goddess! See you soon, baby!
I gasp at the ending to Kendrick’s text, but somehow, I gather myself enough to tap out a calm, normal reply.
Me: Can’t wait.
To Laila, I gasp out, “Kendrick just called me baby. He’s never done that before.”
Laila squeals. “Did you call him baby back?”
“No! I freaked out. Fuck!”
“Text him something else and call him baby right freaking now, Ruby. Hurry.”
“Hang on.”
Me: Turkey or roast beef, baby?
KC: Roast beef, baby!
Me: You’ve got it, baby!
KC: You’re a gem, baby.
“Gah! We double-triple babied each other!”
“It’s in the bag, Ruby. He loves you.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He might not be feeling what I am. That could have been a bit for him. A joke.”
“Ruby.”
“Laila, I have to brace myself for heartbreak here.”
She scoffs. “You’re not going to get your heart broken. He’s feeling exactly what you are.”
She sounds so confident, I’m suddenly deeply suspicious—and cautiously optimistic. “Do you know that for a fact, or is that merely your opinion, based on observation?”
Laila pauses.
“Laila.”
“It’s my opinion. I don’t know anything for a fact. But it’s so obvious to me, I don’t know why you can’t see it, too.”
I exhale with disappointment. “Listen, I say this with love: keep your opinions to yourself, please. I really don’t want to set myself up for—Fuck! I forgot to set a timer for the chicken! I have no idea how long it’s been cooking. Sorry, sautéing.”
“Have you turned it over yet?”
“No.”
“Do it now. It’ll be fine.”
I look at the clock and murmur. “This is so stressful.” Breathing hard, I turn the chicken. “It’s burned, Laila. Shit.”
“Charred?”
“I don’t think so. But way too dark.”
“It’s fine. That’s called blackened chicken. It’s a delicacy. Are you dressed up, nice and pretty for him?”
“No! Fuck! I was going to change, but then I ran out of time. I’m wearing sweats, and I don’t have time to—”