Subsequential

Dom smiled as he came at her, coming around the island. Carra took several steps back, wanting to maintain the distance.

“You have a grill out there. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

She looked out to the deck, but already he was opening cabinets, seeing what was where, taking things out.

Carra stood back. She honestly didn’t care who cooked the damn chicken, she just knew she couldn’t. But it still felt strange to have someone other than Marg in the kitchen. Leon had never done anything more than use the microwave. If it couldn’t just be heated, he’d wait for Marg to do it.

“It’s not a bother to bring Marg back up.” She wasn’t really arguing, just making sure he knew it was an option. In fact, she hoped he turned it down. Marg in the kitchen with him would be uncomfortable, and she wanted to watch him do it, see the results.

He was taking the covered dish of chicken out of the fridge. He set it on the counter among the other things he’d gotten. A towel for his hands and then he was stepping closer, his eyes glancing around appeared conspiring. “I don’t think your maid likes me.” He met her gaze as he said this, only inches separating their faces. “And I can probably do it better.”

Carra grinned. Yeah, he probably could do it better. Just because she wasn’t used to men cooking didn’t mean it wasn’t a regular occurrence elsewhere. Dom probably could grill some chicken better than her bored housekeeper.

He carried everything he’d collected out to the patio, leaving her alone and feeling irresolute. On face value this was acceptable. A friend of her husband’s visiting in the evening for dinner. The reality of the situation was much different. So many aspects of this were so strange it was hard to look at it as a whole. So what?

She couldn’t or wouldn’t just kick him out. It wasn’t in her to do something like that. Plus, she really couldn’t say it was uncomfortable being around him. As much as she didn’t like him, or him her for that matter, it wasn’t as bad as she figured it could be. And he was cooking her dinner. Well, more like for himself, but he might share.

She smiled at that thought and grabbed the bag of chips again. Working more carefully she was able to open it now. She dumped it into a bowl and then worked to put portions of the sauces and salsas in a divided tray. She couldn’t cook, but she could assemble.

Through the kitchen she went out to the breezeway. A small fridge held sodas and other drinks. She put the tray and bowl down, and set out napkins and all the fixings. Back inside for the beer, she stored them in the fridge, keeping two out.

Flames jumped from the grill, making Dom step back. “Do I need to get the extinguisher?”

He turned to her, his attention dropping to the beer which he quickly took. “You ever use this thing?”

Not a clue. She shrugged one shoulder, watching the orange-red flames fan with the wind, making them both step back.

“You should wear a shirt, I’m thinking.”

His hand brushed at his bare stomach, causing a new streak of dirt from his fingertips. “Makes it more sporting.”

Carra snorted and moved safely back out of the way. “Giving the chicken a fighting chance?”

A high table at the railing. She leaned near it, and then had to fight the urge to shrink back as he came at her. Hand reached out to… set the beer on the table before he turned back.

Carra sighed in her relief, lifting the bottle to her lips while her eyes watched him moving away. A low appreciative hum in her throat made her eyes widen at her own audacity. What the hell was she doing? Checking out Dominic Toretto? To what end? He was some street hoodlum practicing illegal activities who’d just managed to wash the stink of grease off in her pool.

Profession and choice of extracurricular activities wasn’t something she’d held against Leon, but Dom seemed to revel in his veneer. Years ago she’d seen him strutting through his kingdom, narcissistic and thinking himself invincible. His world had crashed down around him, but he’d pretended to not see it, carrying on like he was still ruler of something.

And what was he doing now? It had appeared to her that reality was starting to crack the façade. Friends dead, constant police supervision, and a team that was by all standards embarrassing. Anything to be proud of was long gone, and he had to know it. Time was only going to make it more pathetic.

So why was he here? A chance to get away, see things from afar? Or something else? And why in the hell had he chosen her to hole up with?

She watched him, almost absently. It was a nice day out, breezy with a warm sun. Nice to just stand in the sun and admire the view, on and off the patio.

He turned the flame down. Purpose of turning it up so high it had run him off? But now he tossed the raw meat on, making it hiss and spit up quick high flames. No need for a brush, he just started dumping stuff on it. Primitive, but effective, though most if it seemed to be by turns dampening and feeding the flames.

Tongs to turn it all, and he was repeating the dumping process. This chicken was either going to be disgustingly spicy, or he knew what he was doing.

She finished her beer and realized he’d never taken another drink of his. Cautiously she moved closer, staying behind him. He didn’t see her and she had to tap him with the cold bottle to get his attention. He took it with an approving nod. Head tilted back, his throat worked to drain the beer.

This close Carra was forced to watch. Arm up, bicep flexed into prominence, the tendons of his neck standing out, upper chest slick with sweat from the heat of the sun and grill. Yeah, she looked, and felt no shame.

He was dropping the bottle even as the last of the amber fluid guzzled down the hole. His eyes on her were narrowed, probably from the sun, but to her it looked like they were assessing. She took the bottle and turned away, trying to make it look nonchalant, when her heart was actually fluttering wildly.

Halfway across the deck she looked back to see he’d turned back to the grill. His stance could only be described as content. Ass tight, back arched as he leaned back from the grill to protect his face. It forced his back into display, shadows and light playing across the distinct muscles there.

Yeah, the heat or sun must be getting to her.

She delivered another beer to him. Didn’t want him getting parched was the flimsy excuse for her hospitality. A brief smile as the bottle passed hands, then she returned to the cool shade of the breezeway. Though she found she was still watching him, now without worry of him catching her at it.

The chicken was delicious, the company was… interesting. A few more beers helped her feel more comfortable, but there was literally nothing to talk about, or at least nothing acceptable was coming to mind.

A small piece of chicken and some chips was enough to make a meal for her. He ate the rest of the chicken, supplementing with the chips. Where did it all go? He wasn’t overweight, per se. Guess he weighed more than most boys his age. She smiled at the silliness of the thought.

“Share,” he said suddenly, having seen her smile.

A blink of surprise at being caught. “I’d prefer not. I was thinking bad things about you.”

A ghost of a smile, “I’m such a likeable guy though. What’s so bad?”

She rolled her eyes, wondering if he was truly teasing or pretending to be. “Just worried about your diet there.”

He looked down at his plate like the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I’m livin’ healthy here. Laps in the pool, protein and veggies.”

“Was thinkin’ more on the ‘how much’ rather than the ‘what’.”

Narrowed eyes and he leaned forward to stare at her. “You sayin’ I got a fat ass?”

Carra was startled enough to laugh out loud. He’d said it so seriously. Good acting there. “Yeah, you’re wider than all outside. Any water left in the pool?”

He chuckled and sat back with his beer.

Eyes following the movement, and she couldn’t seem to stop it. He really needed to get dressed.

It frustrated her, not wanting to look, but seeming unable to help herself. Was he doing it on purpose? Why couldn’t he have just put a shirt on?

An idea struck her. Escape. She could get away from him for a few hours, clear her head, have that distance. Then he might be fully dressed when she returned. He could even leave or go to bed if she stayed out long enough. Problem solved. She decided to take action immediately.

He watched her gather the dishes, not moving to help. Guess his part was done with the cooking. Bottles in the trash, no need to scrape already emptied plates. Carry the stack to the counter in the kitchen. Second trip for the leftovers, put away a few half-empty jars.

She was starting to feel jittery. The possibility of escape was so lucrative.

Wash hands, reach for the towel. Dominic.

Carra gasped and took a step back. He was standing just a few feet from her, eyes on her. “In a hurry?”

She bit her lip and looked past him. The door was over there, she’d have to back up all the way around the island or move closer to him. “Just straightening up.” Did her voice sound shaky?

A deep breath, stalling as she dried her hands. She tried to settle herself, feeling too flighty. This was her house, dammit! She was running from a guest in it?

She was. The solution to her unwanted attraction to him made her feel almost giddy. Just get away from him. And stop being so damn silly about it.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to go out for a while.”

His head actually jerked back. Surprise? Anger?

“You’re leaving?”

She bit her lip, looking anywhere but at him for a minute, but then biting the bullet and standing straight. His eyes were dark on her, narrowed as he considered. “Yes. I think I’ll go for a drive or something.” She felt better instantly. Yeah, it might have surprised him, but she was her own person. If she wanted to go for a drive, then she would.

He stared at her for a second longer and then turned and walked away.

So much for feeling good about it.

Had she hurt his feelings? That bothered her. But then the little devil on her shoulder had his say. Probably just ruined his plans. Man and a woman having dinner, quiet security of a house, alone. Had he thought there would be something more? Something physical?

That had her moving. She stopped at the coat closet to pull on boots and a jacket. It would get cool out, especially at the speed she’d be traveling.

Out the door and down to the garage, her part of it. Leon had had his own portion, smaller. That made her smile. Two cars deep, five double-wide doors. Three of them were hers.

She kept packs of necessities in all the vehicles she normally drove. The one she chose tonight was not a normal choice, so she had to lean into one of her cars to grab the zippered pack. Some cash, a credit card, a cheap cell phone, a tiny first aid kit, things like that. As many things as she could stuff in and seemed at all useful.

Grab a helmet, tie her hair back before sliding it on. She had to walk the motorcycle forward, past a car parked in front of it.

As the automatic door trundled up she hit the start button. When it was clear she hit the throttle. The motorcycle roared in its whining way and shot out of the garage.