Gen took a leap and asked for more. “How long did you have to live like that?”
He scraped his fork across the plate. “Five years. I left home when I was fourteen.”
Yes, he’d been about nineteen when Sawyer took him in. Twenty when he and Gen had met. “Was it because of your mother? And the drugs? Is that why you had to run?”
He took a sip of his wine and avoided her gaze. “Partly.”
She pushed a bit more. “No foster care? I can’t imagine how you survived on the streets at that age. How brave you must have been.”
His hand clenched around his glass. Self-disgust and a deep loathing suddenly flashed in his beautiful blue eyes. Shocked, Gen held still, afraid to speak or say anything further.
“Never think I was brave, Gen. Never. I did what had to be done.”
Her heart cracked open and bled. Her voice caught. “Wolfe—”
“When did you learn to cook like this?” He grabbed a handful of brussels sprouts and popped one into his mouth. “These aren’t half-bad.”
The wall slammed down. Question-and-answer time was officially over. Gen struggled to get back on firm ground. “Umm, David insisted I know how to cook well. Said it was important for a wife and mother to know.”
“You’re gonna be a surgeon with enough money to hire someone to cook for you. Bet asshole never put the same standards on himself.”
Her lips twitched. “No, he didn’t. I was resentful for a while, but then a strange thing happened. I began to like it. Cooking is creative, but also scientific. Following a recipe to gain a particular product was soothing.”
“Feel free to continue having fun on my account.”
She arched a brow. “Oh, not just me. You’re going to learn a few things while you’re here. It’ll be good for you.”
He groaned. “Should’ve known you’d try to torture me. Listen, we’ll have to go over the schedule. Make sure we mesh.”
Confusion made her frown. “My work schedule is simple enough. I’ll post my shifts, and I already know you work around the clock. You can just text me when you’ll be home for dinner and stuff. Won’t be too hard.”
He rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t care less about work. I’m talking TV. The remote. Who gets what and when. And don’t think I’ll be tortured with those crappy reality shows you try and sneak in. The Bachelor? Hell’s Kitchen? You should be embarrassed.”
She threw a brussels sprout at him. He yelped as it bounced off his rock-hard chest. “Screw you. Anyway, Bachelor doesn’t start a new season for two more weeks. They’re finishing up Dancing with the Stars.”
“You can DVR it.”
“I don’t think so! I’m not getting tortured with your stupid Searching for Bigfoot or Paranormal whatever. They never find a beast or a ghost. You need help.”
He scowled. “They find plenty of evidence. You gotta stop watching junk food for television. Broaden your horizons.”
“I have. I checked out Scandal and love it. It’s all about Washington, D.C., and politics.”
He rubbed his face with disgust. “I just died and went to hell. Seriously.”
“Hope they have good programming in hell,” she chirped, scooping up a sprout and popping it into her mouth. “Or at least DVR.”
They continued the argument over cleanup, hanging his wardrobe in the closet and fussing over cabinet space in the bathroom. She gave him the new comforter set she’d purchased with a brand-new pillow and helped him make up the couch. Damn, it was short. Those long legs of his might get uncomfortable. A twinge of guilt caught her.
“You got memory foam.”
She tucked in the top sheet and glanced over. He was holding the pillow with a look of wonderment. “Huh? Oh yeah, didn’t you tell me you got addicted to memory foam? I wanted you to be comfortable.”
A smile curved his lips. His face softened, and Gen tried very hard not to let a girly sigh of pleasure escape. She’d do anything to keep that smile on him.
Anything.
“We can watch Dancing with the Stars if you really want.”
Gen laughed. “You’re such a nut job. You get a jump on the television, I have to get in the shower. Are you sure you’re going to be able to sleep out here?”
He waved a hand in the air. “You wouldn’t believe the places I’ve slept. This is the Taj Mahal, baby.”
Her gaze flicked to his leather wristbands, wondering again what he hid beneath them. She couldn’t imagine him sleeping in alleys and hunting for food at fourteen years old. What types of horrors did he hide at night? Gen pushed away the nest of emotions, knowing she needed to leave it for the lucky female who’d be the one to completely earn his trust. Sure, she was his best friend, but Wolfe would only share his innermost secrets with the woman he’d love.
Gen hated her already.
She trudged to her room, grabbed her pj’s, and hit the shower. No more thinking in those terms. Especially when they were sharing space. She needed some type of distraction. Some type of antidote to Love Potion Number Nine.
Gen twisted the knob and made the shower a bit colder. Just for extra insurance.
WOLFE HAD TO ADMIT he was having fun.
Since he left Italy, he’d gotten used to being on his own. Calling the shots. But there was something about being with Gen in her home, hanging out, cooking dinner, sniping at each other. A sense of rightness and intimacy he usually only experienced around Sawyer and Julietta.
He adjusted his pillow, stretched his legs out, and channel surfed. He might not have the convenience of a short commute to Purity, but maybe it was a good thing. While Gen was resetting her priorities, he might do the same. The past five years had been a whirlwind, mostly good, but work was his driving force. Since meeting Nate and making another true friend, he added a weekly golf outing to his schedule, which he protected at all costs. Should he try getting back into the dating world? Maybe look for a woman with a bit more depth? Usually it scared the crap out of him, but Gen made him realize he might need more than his body scratched.