TWELVE
Duke
Swear to God, I have never eaten savoury meatballs as good as the ones Cammie makes. They’re nestled on a bed of rice that she made even better with a secret mix of herbs and spices, and drizzled with homemade sauce. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was a master in the kitchen.
Her eyes are alight as I sop up the last of the sauce with a slice of bread. “Good?”
“Woman, you could cook for me any day.”
Her smile fades, the light in her eyes extinguishing. “I miss making these kinds of meals; I don’t get much opportunity to anymore. No point making such a huge dish for just me.”
“Well, I’m in town for at least a week, so I’m telling you now, make the most of it. I won’t complain.” I throw her a wink, just to round the playful tone I’m going for off.
It works, her features softening as she straightens in her seat and reaches for my empty plate. “You know, I might just take you up on that. I’ve got one rule, though.”
“What’s that?”
“The person who cooks doesn’t have to do the dishes.” Her lips tilt up on one side as she stands, and then carries the plates and utensils to the kitchen.
“Fair enough.” Hell, if a little grunt work is all I have to do to get a cooked meal like that every night, then have at it. “I’m guessing you’re back to work Monday?”
She nods, putting some of the ingredients she’d left on the counter away in the fridge. “Yeah.”
“You okay with me hanging here while you’re away?” It’ll make me feel better if there is somebody here to watch the place. I didn’t catch all of what she said to that jackass who came to visit this afternoon, but I get the vibe he’s some jilted ex. And that never fares well.
“I don’t mind.” Cammie returns to her seat at the table, a bottle of water in hand. “Oh. I’m sorry. Did you want one?”
“No, you’re fine.”
She nods, unscrewing the cap. “What do you think you’ll do to pass the time? I’ve got Sky TV and a Netflix subscription you’re welcome to use.”
“Don’t really watch much TV.” Something about having to sit still for that long without it being productive time spent doesn’t fare well with me. Never has.
“You’re kidding.” Her jaw drops as she openly gapes at me. “You don’t do movie marathons? Binge-watch an entire series?”
I shake my head.
“Duke, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
I’ve got a fair idea. “Rather be doing something constructive with my hands.”
She leans back in her seat, looking me over me as though I’m some interesting specimen on display at a zoo. “What do you do then? To pass the time?”
“Fix things. Re-sell them. Try to make a little extra to get me through week to week.”
Her expression grows serious, the smile lines around her eyes fading as the corners of her mouth turn down. “I know you don’t like talking about the army, but do you mind if I ask, do you get paid anything after you leave? Like, I’ve heard you get a kind of pension from them, but I don’t know if that’s just older vets who get it, or if you had to have a certain rank or something.”
“You get something. But it’s not enough to live on.”
“The government would help, right?”
I shake my head. “Not unless you fall into their regular benefit categories: sickness, unemployment, that kind of thing.”
“And I take it you don’t?” She taps her fingers across her bottom lip, drawing my attention there.
“Only been out of work for a couple of weeks, so I don’t qualify for help yet, no.” Not that I’d take it. I’ve never felt right about accepting a hand up when I should be able to do it myself.
I drag my gaze from her mouth, and find her watching me. Her eyes are lazy, her fingers stilled on her bottom lip as she absently pushes at the plump flesh.
Fuck. This woman … She’s got no idea what she’s doing to me right now. Absolutely none.
“Anything I can do around here for you to say thanks for the board?” I shift in my seat, doing my best to subtly rearrange my jeans so the fabric doesn’t choke my dick so hard.
“I’ll think on it.”
For once, the woman appears out of things to say. Is that because of me? I test the theory, leaning back in the seat to stretch my arms, lacing my hands behind my head in a way I know shows off my muscles.
The hand over her mouth drifts to her throat before she snaps out of the trance with a gasp. “Tell you what …” She comes close to tripping over her chair in her hurry to stand, “you wash, I’ll dry. A bit of teamwork to cut the chore in half, huh? I’ve got less than an hour left before I have to be back at the theatre anyway, so the quicker we do this the better.”
Interesting.
I give my arms a flex before dropping them to my sides and rising to my feet. I’d say something further, rile her up a little more, but she’s already in the kitchen with her head in the pantry as she retrieves her cleaning supplies from the cockamamie place she keeps them.
“I really don’t get why you don’t keep them close to the sink, you know, where you use the dishwashing liquid all the time.”
She stills, bent double with that pert little arse poking out toward me. “Really, Duke?” I shift my gaze up her body to her face as she straightens and turns toward me. “Less than twenty-four hours in this house, and I’ve already lost count of how many times you’ve criticised the way I keep it.”
“Observation, is all.”
She dumps the liquid and dishcloth beside the sink, and turns to me, one hand propped on the edge of the counter. “You know, most people have this thing called a filter. It stops them saying stuff that isn’t crucial to the succession of the day, snide little remarks about things that don’t matter like, oh I don’t know”—she taps a finger against her lips—“where somebody keeps their dish washing liquid.”
I lift both hands, walking toward her. “Just trying to make your life easier, is all.”
“Appreciated, but it’s really not necessary.” She steps aside, giving me clearance to set up.
“When is the next show after tonight?” I ask, feeling a change of topic is in order while I wait for the water to run warm.
“Thursday. We only do five a week: Thursday night, two on Friday, and two on Saturday. It amazes me we can manage to pack most of the shows out, considering there aren’t that many people around here.” She chuckles. “But I guess we all like a little escape, right?”
“Yeah.” I dump a healthy dose of liquid into the water and swirl it around to create bubbles. “I guess.”
Except when I escape reality, it’s to a place infinitely more horrible. The kind of landscape that nightmares and horrors are made in.
The kind of landscape that once wasn’t simply a bad dream.
It was my reality—my every day.
My life.