Page 11 of Timber's Girl
Quit ogling him!
“I'm making breakfast,” I squeak before clearing my throat, whipping back toward the toaster. “Consider it a thank you.”
Timber doesn't respond, just sits down at the dining table with a confused look on his face. He seems more wary than he was before the shower.
“For keeping me safe last night,” I clarify.
Our toast pops up, and I breathe a sigh of relief that it isn't too dark. I adjusted the toaster settings, but one can never be too certain. A memory of Dean tossing out my effort to make him a birthday breakfast flashes in my mind, but I shove it away.
Adding a few pieces to Timber's plate, I place it in front of him along with the butter and a knife.
"Do you want water or milk to drink?" I ask as I search for cups. They aren’t hard to find since there’s hardly anythingtofind.
His chair scrapes across the vinyl flooring as he prepares to fill his own glass when I stop him with a hand on his arm. "I'll get it. This is your thank you, remember?"
He pauses then mumbles, “Milk.”
After setting his drink in front of him, I do a quick kitchen clean-up then join him at the small table with my breakfast.
It doesn't look like he's touched anything yet.
Freaking out a little, I shove a bite of eggs into my mouth to make sure they’re edible, but they taste fine to me.
That doesn’t mean anything.
Dean could always find problems.
Damn, yesterday really messed with my head if Dean’s invading my thoughts so thoroughly.
With the help of therapy and the support of my friends, my mental health has improved drastically since leaving my ex, and I don’t think of him nearly as often as I used to. But between seeing him at the Club Wolf fire, receiving those mystery flowers, and puking my guts out yesterday, the ghost of Dean has weaseled its way back into my head.
"Are you okay? Is something wrong?" I ask. This whole situation feels awkward. Somehow our roles have reversed. Now,I’mmaking surehe’salright when I don't understand what could've gone wrong.
My questions shake him from wherever he was because he begins eating, and I follow suit. Things are quiet—even our forks against the plates don't make much sound.
Usually, I prefer a peaceful calm, but this is a little unnerving.
I don’t like feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around a person. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime.
“It must be handy having this place in town, huh?” Not the most interesting question, but it’s all I can think of. Generally, I’m not the one having to pull information out of people. They’re all too happy to provide it themselves with no prompting, except for Timber.
He nods but doesn't elaborate.
Okay…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TIMBER
When I finished my shower and stepped out to see Lindy standing in the kitchen making breakfast, shock coursed through me. I wasn't sure what to make of the scene, especially since shame battered my insides after jerking off to thoughts of her.
In my experience, whenever someone does something nice for me, they always expect repayment, but Lindy doesn’t need anything from me.
Except your cock.
After slamming the door on that unhelpful thought, I’d watched as she mixed something in a bowl, giving a frustrated sigh every time she had to stop to push up the too-big sleeves of her hoodie. An unfamiliar feeling had unfurled inside me—a healing warmth.
In my messed up life, no one has ever made me breakfast. And how pathetic is that? Sure, the biker bunnies who hang out at the clubhouse will sometimes make a huge communal breakfast, but it’s not specifically for me.