Falling For The Biker: The Vice President's Girl Chapter 37

Ezra

"Sit, Ezra." She huffs, patting the back of the chair.

When she moves to leave, I grab her by the arms, squinting into her orbs that swirl with a little bit of mischief and excitement.

"You expect me to sit and eat when you've been mad at me for three days now?" I ask. "Did you bash your head and suddenly forget all the snide comments and dirty looks you sent my way?"

She presses her lips together, eyes dancing with humor. "Oh come on, can't a girl have a change of heart? What happened to forgiveness?"

"Forgiveness?" I snort, lips twitching at the pout on her face. Fuck, she's adorable. "Just this morning you threatened to stab me in the eye if I even looked at you."

Since that night the house has been tense, her anger palpable, and sinking into every corner of the house.

Before I leave the house, she'd make a snide comment either calling me a coward, or a barbarian.

She swore that if I ever looked at or said a word to her, she'd tell Ray I came after her, which she wouldn't of course.

Her door has been locked, she never ate what I cooked and never served me what she cooked.

So forgive me if I'm a little suspicious.

"You're looking at me now, aren't you?" She asks.

"Well...yes?"

"Have I stabbed you in the eye yet?"

A short laugh bursts from my lips. "No. Little miracles, right?"

"Exactly. So sit, let's eat."

"Just like that?" It's still disbelieving. I mean, I was ready to talk things out today, but now, this?

She huffs, shrugging out of my hold. "You're asking the same question in different ways. The food's getting cold."

"Okay." Hands raised in surrender, I take my seat.

She shrugs off the apron and hangs it on another chair before settling in also.

I wait for her to eat, just to be safe. And she does, scooping a forkful of the pasta. I do the same.

My eyes immediately water, and she coughs as we both spit out the very spicy pasta onto a napkin, reaching for our glass of wine and downing it in one go.

"Jesus, Wren, what did you put?" I gawk, my tongue burning.

We clamber to our feet, running into the kitchen to grab nearly frozen waters from the fridge and equally downing those ones too, ignoring the chill we're sure to get in our teeth.

She groans, face red and sweaty. "I d-don't know. I used the bottle of tomato sauce, and some hot sauce."

Chugging some more water, I march to the counter where all the ingredients are still littered.

My jaw drops when I see a nearly half-empty bottle of hot sauce, and an almost full bottle of tomato sauce.

I look at the labels to find that the 'toma' on the tomato sauce is ripped off, while the "h" on the hot sauce is stained and nearly invisible.

That leaves 'to' on the tomato sauce bottle, and 'ot' on the hot sauce bottle.

"Oh god, Wren, don't tell me you switched the tomato sauce with hot sauce." I nearly break into tears, downing some more water.

She trudges to me, tongue out and hands fanning it. Wren squints as she picks up the bottles, and a resigned breath leaves my lips.

"All that's left are the o's and t's. You probably mixed it up," I say, walking out of the kitchen into the living room.

I shrug off my sweat-soaked shirt, letting the air conditioner cool my skin which also seems to calm the fire in my mouth, but only slightly.

Wren drags her feet to me, lips wobbling. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Come here." I pat the space beside me, and her eyes turn glassy. She looks so guilty, it burdens me.

Tugging her, she settles beside me.

"I really didn't mean to, I thought I read the labels w-well." Her voice cracks.

"I know, it was a mistake, and it's fine," I tell her. "At least you're speaking to me nicely now," I tease, nudging her gently.

She sniffles in reply, and I give her a thigh a gentle squeeze, leaning my head on the sofa and closing my eyes.

No word passes between us again.

I let my thoughts take me to how lonely I felt when we weren't speaking, and I compare it to how content I used to feel coming home to an empty house.

But with Wren... each day that passes, she claws her way deeper into my heart, a place that isn't supposed to belong to her.

And I can't help it. Even though she just tried to kill me.

"Ezra." Warm breath fans across my ears, followed by a soft nudge.

My eyes pop open to find Wren standing beside me, with two bowls of food.

Frowning, my brows dip low in confusion. And then, everything clicks. The conversation with Ray, Wren's pasta... "Oh, hell no." I shake my head, sitting up as I blink the sleep from my eyes.

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up, I ordered take out this time. Consider it my apology."

"For nearly killing me?"

Her lips tighten and she places the bowls on the center table. By the corner, I spot the take out bags.

"Thank you," I tell her, with a soft smile. "I'll go grab us some bottles of water."

Stretching, I pad to the kitchen tugging my shirt back on. It takes a minute to recognize how spotless the kitchen is, and the pasta of death is gone too.

I grab the bottles and settle back on the sofa.

"Next time, just use my card. You don't have to spend your money while you're here." I scoop some Chinese rice into my mouth.

Wren sips her water. "Actually, I wanted to talk about that."

My eyes narrow, and I place my get bowl of food back on the table. "Okayy..."

"So, there's a reason I cooked in the first place."

"I knew that."

"Let me finish." She glares. I pinch my lips together. "I have two proposals for you. The first one is that...I need you to pay me."

A brow lifts. "Pay you?"

"Yes. The idea was that I'd cook and clean, and you pay me. You and Ray won't let me work, and I can't leech off you."

"Why can't you leech off me?" I ask, baffled. "I have more than enough."

Irritation crosses her face, her frown deepening. "I know you do. But I want to earn it. Like I said I'd cook and clean—"

"No more cooking please." I snort.

"Whatever." She huffs.

"I'll do the cooking instead. You can stick to cleaning if you really want to, but Birdie..." leaning forward, I hold her eyes, "you don't have to do anything."

"I want to."

"Okay. How much would you want to be paid?"

Her eyes go round, teeth playing with her lips. She leans forward and from the corner of my eye, I see her gown dip.

Forcing my eyes not to drop turns out to be harder than I thought, but I don't give in. I'd hate to give her another signal that wouldn't lead anywhere.

But shit, I want to look. I want to know the colour of her nipples—because despite my rules, she still walks around without a bra—and how milky her skin is. My cock twitches in my shorts.

"Did you hear me?" Her voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I exhale a harsh breath.

Shaking my head, I reply. "No, I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"A hundred a month."

Well, that's awfully cheap.

A smirk settles on my lips. "Don't sell yourself short, Birdie. That kitchen you cleaned, sparkles. I'll add a couple hundred to it. What do you think?"

"I'm not a charity case," she snaps. "If you're not going to take this seriously, then don't bother."

She's on her feet immediately and I grab her hand before she gets too far. Soft, tender.

My fingers intertwine with hers, and I gently tug her back to where she sat across from me. Her dress rises up on her milky thighs, and I clench my fist on my lap.

"I don't think you're a charity case, and I'm sorry I made you feel that way," I choke out, dragging my eyes away from her thighs.

The same thighs that wrapped around me a few nights ago.

That night lives rent free in my head, the fact that I was this close to finally tasting her, touching her...fucking her.

"So what are you suggesting?" Her voice breaks me out of my thoughts again.

I swallow. "I can give you three hundred? That's fair, right?"

A dainty finger taps her cheek as she contemplates.

Eventually, she nods. "Fine. Three hundred a month. Thank you."

"You're welcome." My lips twitch. "You said you had two proposals, what's the second?"

Excitement shines in her eyes, her lips stretching into a wide grin. With her two hands, she clutches my hand like a lifeline, nearly bouncing in her seat.

"Ezraaaa..." she drawls, and I actually chuckle at her antics.

"You're about to ask something absurd, aren't you?"

She rolls the corner of her lip into her mouth. I wet mine on reflex.

"Pretty please," she begs. "I need you to teach me how to fight. And use guns too."

I freeze, the smile on my face dies out like a light.

"Fuck no, Wren." My hand drops from her hers. "You spent an afternoon with Quincy, and all of a sudden you have so many horrible ideas."

She pouts. "Oh, come on, what's the worst that could happen?"

"I believe the answer you're looking for is that you could die, or worse...I could die."

Her lips press together, eyes glistening with barely controlled laughter. "How's your death worse than mine?"