Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

as buff as you?” I asked as I pulled my underwear on.

“Probably not.”

“So it’s just your security software thingy you developed that burns calories, got it.”

His smile shifted into a wicked smirk. “How’d you know about that?”

Busted.

Oh well.

Stalker turnabout is stalker fair play.

“Google,” I admitted.

“Find anything good?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” I opened my mouth to launch in, but then he added, “While I cook.”

Returning to the kitchen, Alexander lifted me back onto the counter. I tried to shift down, but he held me in place.

“I’m not wearing pants.” His shirt was long enough for me to sit on, but still.

“Trust me, flower, I’m very fucking aware.”

“It’s not sanitary.”

“Neither is what we did on the table, but I’m damn sure gonna do it again. And more.”

What other surfaces can we violate health and safety guidelines on?

As if he read my thoughts, his gaze heated and he kissed me, hard and fast before pulling away to resume dinner prep. “Interrogate away.”

“You said you started your company eleven years ago when you were twenty. So you’re thirty-one?”

“Yes. You?”

“I didn’t agree to an interrogation,” I pointed out.

“Quid pro quo.” Abandoning the onion, he grabbed something from the fridge and something else from the counter. He held the paper bag of tortilla chips and Styrofoam container of salsa. “Or in this case, salsa pro quo.”

“Diablo Loco?”

He lifted his chin. “Inferno sauce in the fridge, too.” I reached for the treasures, but he lifted them up. And since, even with me on the counter, he was way taller than me, it was an effective move. “Answer.”

I opened my mouth to ask if he already knew everything about me, but I decided I didn’t want to know.

“Twenty-one,” I answered instead. “Are you from Redmond?”

He shook his head. “Outside of Portland.”

“Miami,” I said before he could ask.

“Why’d you move here?”

“Hey, it’s my turn.”

He handed me the chips and salsa before repeating his question. “Why’d you move here?”

It was the farthest I could get from that hellscape.

“My sister’s a shrink at the center—Aria. She moved for work and brought me along for the ride.”

“Any other family?”

“No, my parents are dead. It’s just Aria and me.” I opened the salsa. “You owe me two answers now.”

“You can’t throw a flash drive in Seattle, Portland, or Silicon Valley without hitting an internet startup, app developer, or software company. I like being farther out, but still close enough to work with the big tech.”

“Why were you in Seattle yesterday?”

“I have offices there.”

“And?” I prompted, reading his expression and knowing there was more.

“And Portland. And Silicon Valley.” He shrugged. “Gotta play the game a little.”

“Family?”

“Only child. Parents died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Long time ago. But thank you.”

“Why techy whatnots?”

“I like the puzzle. Slowly working through it, seeing what comes together and what can be created.”

“And once you figure out the puzzle? Do you get bored and move on?”

We both knew what I was asking.

Am I your newest puzzle to solve and discard?

“Never. I become obsessed with learning everything about them.” With that reassurance, he moved between my legs to open a drawer and pull out… I had no clue. A shiny medieval looking something or another.

“What is that?”

“Garlic press.”

“Okay then.”

“Take it you don’t cook?”

“Not unless I can peel back a plastic film and nuke it in the microwave for three minutes.”

“Good thing I love to do it then.”

The inference that we’d be having future dinners together pressed on my chest but my stomach fluttered and flipped with giddiness. I could deal with the bad—I’d been doing it a long time—so long as it was accompanied by that good feeling.

Home-cooked food, his talented tongue, and just Alexander period didn’t hurt, either.

I shifted my legs to the side as he opened another drawer. “Wouldn’t this be easier if I was sitting on a stool and out of the way?”

He squeezed my thigh. “I like you close.”

Our Q&A continued as he cooked the most amazing carnita tacos I’d ever had—made even better with inferno hot sauce. I learned about his business, even if I didn’t understand most of it. That he didn’t have a favorite color, like some sort of weirdo. That his favorite movie was anything with no inaccurate and simplified hacking. That, like a lot of people in the area, he still had a soft spot for grunge music, even if he couldn’t pull off the flannel.

Most importantly, I learned I liked Alexander. We had a lot in common aside from our dysfunction.

It was the best date, night, and dinner I’d ever had, all rolled into one.

And we hadn’t even gotten to the sex yet.

Chapter Twenty-One

Best

Briar

For all the toos

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

My eyes shot open and my heart rate flew through the roof. It reached hummingbird levels as I scanned the nearly pitch-black room that did not look like my own. It took my mind a moment to catch up and remember that the reason the room didn’t look like mine was because it wasn’t.

I was at Alexander’s.

After dinner, he’d waited until I was full of his delicious cooking and then full of his delicious something else before asking me to stay. Since I’d been exhausted and sated, I’d eventually said yes.

And by yes, I meant I’d fallen asleep under him.

It’d been a deep, restful sleep, which made it all the more jarring to wake up alone in a big bed in a dark room with no clue what time it was or where my bed buddy had gone. Since I’d been otherwise occupied when Alexander had carried me there, I didn’t even know what the room looked like.

Climbing out of bed, I tried to feel around for my clothes, but all I had were my discarded panties and Alexander’s shirt. The rest of my stuff was still in a heap in his dining room.

Shit.

This isn’t going to be awkward at all.

I’d finished getting dressed in what I had available when the door swung open. With the sunlight streaming in behind him, Alexander looked like a modern ideation