Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(57)

“So what were you doin’ before I barged in?”


She pointed to the tin on the table next to him. “I was just about to have a piece of pie. You hungry?”


For you. I want to savor you. I want to devour you.


“Carter?”


“No.”


“You sure? It’s a new recipe and I have whipped cream. Not fresh, it’s the canned kind—”


“Have you even been listenin’ to me, Macie?” He stood and crowded her against the small refrigerator imbedded in the wall. “I said I miss you.”


“How can that be? It’s only been two days since we—”


“—f*cked? Yeah, I know. But it’s been a couple of weeks since we talked. Really sat down and talked. Or fought. Or did anything but f*ck like wild rabbits then disappear into our separate little hidey holes.”


“Sorry to be such a disappointment to you.”


“There ain’t a single goddamn thing about you that disappoints me, that’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you. I miss you.”


“Then why are you here scowling at me?” She held up a hand and he automatically stepped back. “Besides the ‘missing me’ thing you keep bringing up?”


Carter smiled. “Because I wanted to see you. Can we just hang out and talk? Act like a normal couple?”


Her hazel eyes turned shrewd. “Are we a couple?”


“Hell yes, we’re a couple. A normal couple, doin’ normal couple things. Talkin’ an’ shit.”


“Fine.” Macie cocked her head. “A normal couple would sit down and have pie.”


“Then dish it up, darlin’. Extra whipped cream on mine.”


Once they were seated across from one another, Carter took a bite. He groaned.


“That’s the best pie I’ve ever tasted.” Another quick bite elicited another heartfelt groan of delight. “My mother would wash my mouth out for sayin’ that to anybody but her.”


Macie finally smiled at him. “Yeah?”


“Yeah. Where’d you learn to cook?”


“Self-taught out of self-preservation.”


Another bite of ambrosia. He moaned again. “Meaning?”


“My mom didn’t cook. I needed to eat. My first job was in a restaurant. I like to experiment with food. I’d still rather cook than waitress, but the money is better waiting tables.”


“Ever thought about goin’ to cookin’ school?”


“Now and again, but I wasn’t the best student. I don’t want to study in a specific area like French, Italian, European or vegetarian dishes. Being a fulltime sous chef would be boring. Same goes for a pastry chef. Or a baker. I don’t think I’d do well with people telling me what I don’t know, or telling me what to do all the time.”


“No? I’m shocked.”


She swatted at him. “Plus, I like mixing it up and doing it all myself. I’ve heard some of those specialized schools suck the creativity right out of you.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I wasn’t talking about the kind of stuff you do. Art.”


“But it’s true there too. The instructors make you learn how to do it the ‘right’ way so you can eventually do it your own way.” He shoveled in the last chunk of flaky crust and chewed slowly, drawing out the taste. “Then when you do the kind of art that makes you happy, no one thinks it’s real art. It gets called ‘folk’ or ‘rural’ or something that belittles it.”


“That’s happened to you?”


“Every damn day.” Whoa. He’d finished his dessert in record time. He looked over at her full plate; she’d scarcely eaten a bite. Shrugging, he helped himself to a taste of her pie. “Then there’s the whole all ‘artists are gay’ mentality. I’m constantly getting hit on.”


“Never in a million years would I look at you and peg you as gay.”


“Which is why I’m the perfect foil, darlin’.”


“The last guy I dated? He was an artist and I found out in a rude fashion he was gay.”


“Yeah? If anyone could turn a man from the dark side, it’d be you.” He scooped in two more heaping forkfuls of caramelly goodness and sighed. “A couple of the bolder ones thought I was playin’ hard to get, so they tried to convert me.”


“How’d that go for them?”


“I think the one guy from New York is probably still pickin’ up his teeth.” Carter plucked up the last chunk of pie from Macie’s plate, rammed it in his mouth with a happy little moan.


He froze. Lord. Was he smacking? Would it be bad manners to lick the plate?


Yes.


Would it be rude to offer to lick her?


Yes.


Focus. Romance. Normal couple things.


He licked the tines on his fork. “I don’t have nothin’ against gays.”


“Carter.”


He dabbed up every single sugared crumb of the delicious piecrust from the pie tin, sucking the sweetness of the apple filling from the pad of his thumb, lost in thought.