Assumption (Underground Kings 1)

“Um…I… Thank you,” I whispered, taking the keys from him with shaky fingers.

He nodded, looking like he was going to say something else, but instead, he left me standing there, looking at the car, dumbfounded by the act of generosity. No one had ever done anything like that for me before.

From that day on, I tried to help where I could. I tried to cook a couple of times, but that was a disaster, so I settled on showing my appreciation in other ways. I kept the house clean, went to the grocery store if I noticed things running low, and even did laundry if I saw it piling up. He told me that I didn’t need to do everything I was doing, but I ignored him. I knew he appreciated my help. He was always busy and seemed to be running himself ragged.

When we did have moments to talk, he smiled more and seemed more at ease with me. I lived for the stolen moments I had with him. It was stupid, but I felt like a lost puppy looking for a bone. I hated and loved that he made me feel like that. I had wondered for a long time if I had somehow become asexual. I hadn’t been interested in a guy since my first and last boyfriend.

I walk down the stairs, going into the kitchen to grab some much-needed coffee. I just got off the phone. The hospital I worked at in Vegas has agreed to transfer my hours to a hospital they are affiliated with in Nashville. Then I called the hospital in Nashville, and they want me to start as soon as possible. My shift will be eleven to seven a.m. They told me that, after I’m on staff for a while, I can change up my schedule. It doesn’t matter to me what hours I work, just as long as I’m working.

I’m on cloud nine; I can’t wait to get back to work. Nursing is something I love doing and am really good at.

I hit the bottom landing of the stairs and go around the corner into the kitchen. Kenton is standing at the stove on the phone. His back is to me, so I take a second to admire him.

Today’s jeans are light blue and faded in all the right spots. His red T-shirt fits him snugly, showing off his muscles while enhancing his tan. His head turns towards me; his golden eyes hit mine and then do a head-to-toe sweep.

“You want coffee?” he rumbles out, his deep voice making my girly parts tingle.

I hear him say goodbye to whoever’s on the phone before he sets it on the counter. His eyes look me over again and his mouth starts to twitch.

“You want coffee?” he asks again, this time a small smirk playing on his lips.

“I…um… Yes please,” I tell him, walking fully into the kitchen.

His house is older, the kitchen showing the wear and tear of having been around for so long. Everything is clean but in major need of updating. The cabinets are a light wood, and the counters are some old laminate that has started chipping around the edges. The fridge, stove, and dishwasher are white and desperately need to be replaced.

He hands me a cup of coffee, and I quickly add milk and sugar before hopping up on the counter, sitting across from him, praying that I don’t continue to make a fool out of myself.

“What’s your plan for the day?” he asks, looking at me from over the top of his coffee cup.

“I need to go shopping. I left all my work clothes back home and I just got a job in Nashville,” I tell him, smiling.

His cup lowers as his hand turns white on the handle. “Like I told you before, I don’t want randoms in my house.”

My face heats and I take a breath, needing to make sure I understand what he’s saying before I flip out and kick him in the balls. “What do you mean by ‘randoms’?” I ask, keeping my voice light.

He studies me for a second like he’s debating his next words. Smart man. “Guys from the strip club.”

Apparently he’s not that smart. I take another breath as my stomach turns. “Don’t worry. I don’t bring my work home with me,” I tell him, dumping out the almost-full cup of coffee into the sink. I jump off the counter, putting the cup in the dishwasher before grabbing my bag and heading for the door.

I’m used to being judged, but for some reason, it coming from him makes me feel sick. I hate that he somehow has that kind of power over me. I hate that I want him to take a second to get to know me.

I get into the Beetle, telling myself that, as soon as I get back, I’m going to find out the value of the car he got me and give him the money for it.

I quickly ask Siri where I can find a store to buy scrubs, and once I have the directions pulled up, I put the car in drive, do a U-turn in front of the house, and head into town. First, I go to the scrubs shop and spend over five hundred dollars. Who doesn’t need cute scrubs?

When I’m done with that, I go to a nearby nail salon and get a manicure and pedicure. Then I come across a small soul food restaurant and have barbecue ribs and homemade macaroni and cheese. For dessert, I have made-from-scratch peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream. Now that I can eat whatever I want without worrying about my appearance, I plan on eating everything I’ve been denied.

When I was growing up and competing in beauty pageants, there wasn’t a week that went by that I didn’t have a competition. My mom was very strict about what I ate. Everything was premeasured and my calorie intake was no more than what was necessary to survive. I didn’t even know what sugar tasted like until I turned sixteen. Then, when I moved to Vegas and my jobs all required me to have a certain image, I stuck with my old habits.

But now? Fuck that! I’m going to eat—and eat everything. After eating, I’m not ready to go home, so I go to the movies, buy a ticket, and sit in the dark theater alone, watching as a young woman is attacked by an evil spirit. Well, I think that’s what it is… About halfway through, I fall asleep. I wake up to screaming and have no clue what is going on, so I get up and leave.

When I pull up in front of the house, the first thing I notice is Kenton’s car parked out front. I really don’t want to see him again, but I know I can’t avoid going inside forever. I get out of the car, leaving the bags with my new work clothes in the trunk. He doesn’t need to know what I’ll really be doing. He chose to make assumptions about me, so he can continue to think what he wants.

I’m not going to try to change his mind. Yes, he’s good-looking, but I’m starting to see a pattern. He’s a dick and judgmental. He’s a judgmental dick.

I sigh, walking up the front porch, and as soon as I unlock the door and push it open, the smell of something cooking hits my nose. Even though I ate earlier, my stomach growls. I ignore my stomach and start for the stairs. I have a candy bar in my bag; that can hold me over until tomorrow.

“You’re back,” I hear from behind me as my foot hits the first step.

“Yep.” I look over my shoulder at him. Why does he have to be so good-looking?

“I made dinner.”

“Good for you,” I say sarcastically, going up two more stairs.

“Look, I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier.” He sighs, and I wonder if he has ever apologized in his life.

“You shouldn’t have,” I agree, taking a few more steps.

“Will you stop for a second?” He lets out a huff, and I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Come eat so we can talk. You’re living here. I think it’s only right that we get to know at least a little about each other.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to fuck off, but sadly, my manners are ingrained in me. I turn, walk down the stairs, and follow him into the kitchen.

“Will you get out a couple plates?” he asks, going to the oven. As soon as he has the oven open, the smell of baked chicken hits me, making my stomach growl again. “You really should eat more,” he mumbles.

I turn to look at him and feel my temper spike. “I did eat,” I tell him, pulling down two plates before getting two sets of silverware out of the drawer and setting them on the counter with a little too much force.

“I mean something besides rabbit food. You need to gain some weight.”

I take a breath and blow it out slowly, counting in my head from one to ten. “Okay”—I turn my face to look at him—“I don’t

know what’s wrong with the filter that goes from your brain to your mouth, and honestly, I really don’t care.” I turn around to face him completely. “I don’t appreciate you saying things to me about my job, my free time, or my eating habits. I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but it doesn’t give you the right to talk shit to me whenever you feel like it.”

I inhale deeply before letting out a breath, noticing that his eyes seem to have gone softer. Something about that look makes me feel better, but I finish with, “If you think that’s going to be a problem, I can find somewhere else to stay until I can go home.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that to you.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair before our eyes meet again. “Let’s start over.”

“Sure.” I nod, my insides twisting under his gaze. Every time he looks at me, I feel like he sees way too much.

He walks towards me, sticking out his hand. “Kenton Mayson.”

I put out my hand for him to take. “Autumn Freeman,” I tell him, and our eyes lock as his fingers wrap around mine. His touch sends tingles down my spine. I lick my lips, which have suddenly gone dry.

His eyes drop to my mouth before meeting mine again. “Right.” His voice seems deeper than before and his eyes seem to have gone darker. “Get the salad, babe.” He nods towards the fridge, dropping my hand.

My stomach flips at the word ‘babe.’ I ignore it and go to the fridge, pulling the salad out as he pulls some potatoes out of the oven, setting one on each plate before adding a golden piece of chicken as well.

“It’s a nice night. How ’bout we sit out on the deck?”

“Sure,” I agree.