Rock with Me
Page 56

“Ah, damn, baby,” he groans and follows me over the edge into bliss.
***
“We really should get up,” I mumble and turn my face to kiss his chest.
“Why?”
“It’s almost noon.” I laugh. Leo chuckles and kisses my head.
“We don’t have anywhere to be until this evening.” He turns on his side to face me.
“What are we doing this evening?” I ask and trace the tattoo on his shoulder.
“We have been invited to Gary and Lori’s for a barbeque with the whole crew.”
“Oh, okay.” I sigh and snuggle deeper into my pillow, watching him. “What are we gonna do today?”
“What do you want to do?” He asks and brushes a piece of my hair behind my ear.
“We could go for a run,” I suggest and chuckle when he frowns.
“Take a day off, sweetheart.”
“Well, we could at least start by getting out of this huge bed of yours and getting some food. I’m hungry.”
He grins wolfishly. “Worked up an appetite, did you?”
“Come on.” I hop up onto my knees and nudge his leg. Leo’s eyes travel up and down my nakedness and I laugh. “No more sex until I’ve been fed, Mr. Insatiable.”
“But you’re irresistible.” He grabs my hand and pulls me back down on top of him.
“No way, I can’t do anymore of the sex stuff until I’ve had food.” I kiss him and playfully tug on his piercing.
“Fine.” He sighs deeply, pretending to be put out.
“Do you have food here?” I ask. We’ve grabbed food out since we’ve been here.
“There should be some basic supplies here. I had my housekeeper bring in a few things the day we arrived.”
“Cool. Come on.” I jump up and throw a Train tee over my head, grab a pair of black lacy panties out of my bag and pull them on and walk out the door of his bedroom without looking back. “Get your lazy ass up, Nash!” I yell over my shoulder.
“Are you always such a nag?” He yells back.
“Yes!”
I hear him laughing as I reach the kitchen and pull out what I need for French toast and bacon.
He pads into the kitchen, barefoot and bare chested, in just jeans with the top button left undone.
My God, he’s delicious.
He smiles smugly as I look him up and down. “Like what you see, sugar?”
“You’re okay.” I shrug, smirk, and pull four slices of bread from the loaf.
“Don’t stroke my ego or anything.” He laughs and pulls the orange juice from the fridge, pours us each a glass, and leans against the countertop, watching me bustle about his kitchen.
“Your ego doesn’t need more stroking. You know you’re hot.”
He just shrugs and sips his juice. “It means something when you say it.”
When breakfast is finished, we carry our plates and juice outside onto the patio. There are more clouds in the sky today and the air is not quite as warm.
“I think it’s going to rain today,” Leo comments and takes a big bite of his toast. “God, this is good. Where did you learn to cook?”
“Mom and dad both cook really well.” I shrug and take a bite of bacon. “They made us all learn. Earning our keep, I believe mom called it.”
He stops eating and frowns for a moment before taking another bite of toast.
“What?” I ask.
“What what?”
“What made you frown?”
He swallows and lowers his fork to his plate, a crease between his eyebrows. “My mom used to say that too.”
He’s quiet for a while, staring at his food.
“Do you want to talk about them?” I ask quietly.
He shrugs and then exhales hard. “It’s weird, the things that trigger a memory.”
“How old were you when you lost them?” I ask.
“Twelve. Fucking car accident.”
I nod. I knew that from Meg. “What was your mom like?”
“She was so funny.” He laughs and smiles at me. “Seriously funny. I remember laughing with her a lot, the way you and I do.”
“And your dad?” I ask with a grin.
“Dad was fun too. He was the musician. He taught me to play the guitar and piano by the time I was six.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
“I preferred the guitar. Still do.” He shrugs and his eyes sober. “We listened to Bob Dylan for hours on end. Dad had good taste in music.”
“What about your mom? What kind of music did she like?” I love that he’s talking about his family. I have a feeling it doesn’t happen often.
“She liked pop music. We listened to a lot of radio in the car. She had a beautiful voice.” He frowns again and I just want to scoop him up and hold him close. It breaks my heart that he lost those wonderful people.
“I’m sorry you lost them,” I whisper.
“Me too.”
“Do you have photos?”
“Yeah, in one of the bedrooms. When they died, all of their belongings went into a storage unit until I turned eighteen. I also got their insurance money at eighteen. So, I packed up all of their personal stuff, sold or gave the furniture away, and I’ve just kept all of their things in the boxes.”
“You’ve never gone through them?” I ask, surprised.
“No.”
“Not even to find some photos or birth certificates or something?”