Mark (Mallick Brothers 3)

And, really, they all reminded me a bit of my brothers. Kingston, like Ryan, was the oldest, the more level-headed. Rush reminded me a bit of Shane- a bit too apt to act before he thought, headstrong, confident. Nixon and Atlas were very in-your-face, but I got the feeling that outside of trying to scare off their sister's boyfriends, they were probably the more carefree, jocular of the whole lot of them.

I hopped up in the truck beside a woman who somehow made jeans and a goddamn sweater look like the sexiest outfit possible, turning the truck over, and reaching behind her headrest to look out the back.

"The food store?" she asked as my eyes caught hers.

Finding her brows drawn together, I reached out and pressed my finger into the lines that formed between them, smoothing them out. "Yes. That's where the food lives. If I'm gonna cook for you, Scotti, I need to get some food to do so. And since I don't know much about you yet, including what you do or do not eat, I figured I would just make my life easier and take you with me."

Finding no fault in my argument, she gave me a small nod. "Oh, okay. Well, um, I eat anything really except avocados and cottage cheese." At my raised brow, she laughed, the sound a low, husky, hot as fuck thing that went right to my dick. "It's a consistency thing. Avocados are squishy, and cottage cheese is chunky." Even as she said that, her face slipped into a grimace that shouldn't have been, but totally was, fucking adorable.

"So you cook," she commented as we pulled out onto the main drag and in the direction of the food store.

"Yep. My Ma pounded that into all of us growing up. Said we weren't allowed to expect women to do the cooking for us."

"I think I like your mom," she said, giving me a smile.

"Do you cook?"

"Not if I can help it," was her immediate response. "I know how. My mom taught all of us cooking basics here and there. But trying to cook for myself and my brothers is futile. One week, Rush is doing keto and refuses to eat anything I cook with carbs. The next, maybe Nixon is on a green cleanse, so meat is out. You just can't please them all. It's easier to order in so everyone gets what they want."

"Or, you know, tell them to cook for their fucking selves if they are going to be a pain in the ass," I offered.

"Then, oh, the bitching and moaning," she said, shaking her head. "For grown men, they can put five-year-olds to shame."

"Do you bake?"

Her smile went a little wistful at that, her eyes seemingly far away. "Occasionally. Mostly around holidays. That was a tradition in my family as far back as I remember."

"How about I get dinner and you get dessert?" I offered.

"That seems fair," she agreed. "So I am assuming we are going to be going to your place."

"No. I'm gonna build a damn sun oven. You got twelve hours to wait to eat, right?"

"Why am I picturing your place as a frat house?"

"Must be my boyish charm," I offered, un-offended. Fact of the matter was, the verbal jabs, that was just part of my everyday life. In fact, I was usually the one most likely dishing them out. I liked that she felt comfortable and confident enough to say what was on her mind. That was refreshing. Especially so at the very beginning stages with someone. You almost never meet the true person on the first few dates. You meet their representative. You meet the version of them that was on their best manners, looked their absolute best, chose their words carefully, tried not to ruffle any feathers.

It was refreshing not having to try to see past the mask.

"Nope," I said when she went to walk up to the hand carts.

I pulled out a cart and her smile pulled up. "Are we feeding a small army?"

"Nope, but it means I can do... this..." I said, pulling her over to the cart and placing her hands on the push bar. Then I moved behind her, placing my hands on the outsides of hers.

"You can't be serious," she said, body jumping with a small laugh. "This looks ridiculous."

"And cheesy. And almost as irritating as same-side-seating at restaurants," I agreed. "Come on, let's make all the cat-ladies and un-fucked housewives a little jealous," I offered, moving in a little closer, not above using her response to my body against her as I started pushing the cart. Trapped between me and it, she was forced to start walking too. "They're all pea-green with envy," I said down by her ear, feeling a small shiver work through her as my lip brushed the lobe in the process.