Diamond in the Rough: RBMC Pittsburgh, PA Book 2 by Deja Voss

Author:Deja Voss [Voss, Deja]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Brass:

* * *

“Pick me out some clothes?” she asks. “I’m not picky.”

She’s lathering what she can of her body in this lotion that smells like lemons and sunshine and it drives me fucking wild.

If I had my way, she’d be spending the rest of the day wearing nothing but that towel, but Gin and Rowdy are coming over for dinner. I fully and selfishly admit now that we’re on the same page, I want her all to myself. I don’t want to share her time with those two, even though they are our friends.

I know Rowdy has been following Floyd and his crew for the last few days without Bruiser knowing, and I’m curious what he’s found out. Hopefully we’ll be able to put all this to bed soon, even though I’d stay here in the safe house with Jewel for the rest of my life and not complain once.

I sort through the duffle bag of stuff Gin dropped off a few days ago, trying to pick out something for her to wear. I don’t really pay attention to what I’m grabbing, but I know I like her in shorts and I like the way this sweatshirt feels, kind of like an old dish cloth. I grab a pair of socks, too. I lay everything out on the bed and she laughs as she looks it over.

“Those are some interesting choices,” she says, “but I trust your judgement.”

“It doesn’t matter what you wear, babe.”

I mean it, too. I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about what she was wearing. She’s always just pretty to me. If she had a specific style before her accident, I couldn’t tell you what it was. I just know I like her and that’s enough.

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that.” I help her get the shirt over her cast, trying not to be a creep as I gaze over her tits just hanging there in my face like the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll take it from here,” she says, and I go out in the kitchen to put some bread in the oven, knowing well enough that if she needs some privacy in this tiny place, I better give it to her.

I stir the soup in the crockpot and hope she doesn’t mind eating the same thing twice in a day, but judging by the way she acted earlier, I think she really likes it. It makes me feel good and a little proud that I made her happy without even having to ask. I try to think of more things like that I can surprise her with. I wonder if she’s a cake or a cookie person? I haven’t baked in a long time, but I remember most of my mom’s recipes by heart.

As I look in the cabinet at all the dry ingredients and punch a few notes in my phone, a high pitched scream that sounds like somebody’s getting murdered comes from the bathroom.

I take off running, and my heart sinks.

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