Page 20 of Tanner (Dirty Misfits MC 5)
If it was only her, it wouldn’t have been nearly this difficult.
“You’re fooling yourself,” I said as I stared at my reflection.
I ripped a towel off the wall and wiped my face off. Then, I threw it at my reflection and stormed out of the bathroom. I ripped my bedroom door open and stomped down the hallway, heading straight for the kitchen as my stomach growled. I needed food. I needed to cook a luscious meal to try and get my mind off what was to come.
And when I found myself in the kitchen, I knew exactly what to cook.
I hated myself for even thinking about it. I hated myself for even wanting to try the recipe. But pasta alfredo with cajun shrimp and hot sauce was Summer’s favorite meal. At least, it had been when we were kids. And the idea of having a hot, piping bowl of fresh noodles and spicy shrimp made my mouth salivate as I pulled everything out that I needed.
Including the flour and eggs to make the noodles myself.
“Can’t be too hard,” I whispered.
I dug through the recipe drawer that Finn had put together in the kitchen and came across a basic noodle recipe. Finn and Porter were the two guys that had it going on in the kitchen, but I had picked up a few things while watching them over the years. Porter was the one that always came by to cook me shit back when Summer first left me. He always came over with fresh meats and vegetables and new recipes to try out on me, and while I knew he was worried about leaving me alone back during those days I knew I’d be forever grateful for his company.
Because had it not been for him, I probably wouldn’t have done what he was scared I’d do.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I grumbled.
I dipped up the flour I needed and created a little pocket to crack the eggs into. And little by little, I swirled it all together. The process was slow, and I had to knead that noodle dough a great deal. But, once it became the texture I figured it needed to be, I rolled it out as thinly as I could before using Finn’s noodle press to get it the exact thickness and cut it needed to have.
Then, once that was done, I put some water on the stove and turned my sights to the sauce.
I lost myself in the monotony of it all. My nose gorged itself on the smells and I kept taste-testing everything to try and settle my stomach down. However, once the entire meal came together, I tossed it all into a clean saucepan, topped it with parmesan and hot sauce, and then toasted some bread before slapping slabs of butter on it. My bowl overflowed with food and there was still enough for at least two more people to eat.
And after grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge, I made my way out into the living area. I resolved myself to spending the rest of the evening eating myself into oblivion while watching reruns of sitcoms we had on DVDs. We couldn't have a lot of modern technology in this place since most of it could be tracked. However, that didn’t stop us from building what was probably the largest collection of DVDs this side of Santa Cruz.
When I finally navigated to the room, however, I paused just beyond the doorway. I blinked a few times, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. Then, when I was sure it was really her sitting there, I held my breath.
Watching, and waiting, to see if Summer noticed me while she sat on the couch with an apple and stared off at the wall.
Ten
Summer
“I can smell your food, you know,” I said.
I took a massive bite out of my apple and crunched on it as a droplet of juice found its way to the tip of my lip. My tongue darted out, licking it up before it fell off my lower lip and found its way to my chest.
Food always had a way of ending up on my chest.
I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned in bed so much that I ended up fucking with my spine, and as I chomped into my apple again, a shooting pain ricocheted down my right side. I hissed as I sat up, wondering when my life would stop causing me so much pain, and in an instant Tanner was at my side.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked.
I slowly looked over at him. “Just eat your food. It smells great, wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
But he didn’t care. “Seriously, where does it hurt?”
I shrugged. “Just my back. The epidural really fucked me up.”
It was so late at night—or early in the morning—that I didn’t even register what I had said until it was already too late. And in a flash, Tanner got up onto his feet and scooped his food back up. I sighed as I leaned back against the couch, abandoned my half-eaten apple as it rolled out of my hand and onto the floor.
