19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Anna

T obias Jeffers is being way too casual.

About everything.

The self-restraint he exhibited in the store is enough to have me questioning whether or not I picked up a doppelganger somewhere along the way and just didn't notice until now.

During our car ride, he called the store owner and admitted to taking a cart full of products from their store and leaving money in the back.

It's almost as if being out here in the mountains is both a trigger for the bad memories, while also calming him. Changing him.

I can't explain it.

"You're creeping me out." Hands to my hips, I stare at the now shirtless bassist who chops an onion and then swipes into the sizzling pan.

I didn't even know he could cook.

"Rude," he mutters on a scoff, tossing a few cloves of garlic onto the board that his nimble fingers work over.

"And where is your shirt?"

A shrug is all I get before Toby's palm smacks the side of the knife against the wood, crushing the cloves beneath the blade he quickly chops, then adds to the sauteing onions. "You're lucky I'm wearing pants."

I snort. "Cooking while half-dressed is dangerous." And unsanitary, yet that doesn't seem to bother me.

He pauses, hands hung over the pan, and flicks his gaze to me. "Something you have some experience with, Prune?"

The flush takes over my face before I can stop it, which only serves to confirm whatever suspicion Toby has cooked up in his head.

He's wrong—I would never—but I also don't correct him, either.

"The things I didn't know about you …" he mutters, resuming his gait around the kitchen, adding various ingredients and spices to the pots heating on the stove. "Besides, I showered earlier."

I try to convince myself that the delicious smell is enough to keep my feet stuck to the tile but when my eyes refuse to leave the muscles of Toby's back, the tattoos standing proud against tanned skin that intrigue me rather than intimidate me, and the dusting of hair across his chest that leads to the southern part of his torso, I know I'm losing the battle. His fingers—so talented—as they work about the concoction, introducing a ground meat of some kind to the sizzling pan, then to the tomato-based sauce he's been nursing in a larger pot.

My eyes follow his frame as he swaggers around the kitchen like cooking is just something he does, while shirtless, with no one around but me to feed.

"Will you ever talk about it?" I ask, hoping that the calmness and the distraction of cooking will open him up enough to let some of the demons out.

And I can keep my newfound ones in.

"No."

Not surprising.

"Fine," I placate. "Wanna talk about the other thing?"

"Nope." He doesn't even look up from his tasks.

"Do you even remember her?" I push. I know it's probably the wrong way to do this, but I'm sick of dancing around the topics. Pretending that he doesn't know when he has to after what happened at Nitro's meet and greet. If we're going to fight the accusations, then I need the truth. From him. "Recognize her at all?"

This question pauses him. His brown eyes, a lighter shade than they were this morning, flick to me and narrow. "I thought no meant no ."

I scoff. "C'mon, Jeffers." I shake my head. "Is there any chance it's real ?"

"Real? I always wear a raincoat."

"That's not an answer."

"It's what you're getting," he growls and turns back to the stove. "It ain't mine."

I step closer. "Are you positive ?"

I need to be sure. For press purposes.

The sound that comes from him is almost animalistic. Frustrated and defensive.

"Then why is there a DNA test?"

Toby scoffs, tossing the spoon onto the stove, red sauce splattering all over the cooktop. "Funny, Prune," he mutters as he snags a towel he wrings and turns away from me.

"I don't think any part of this is funny." Following him, we round the island and he stops to pull open the refrigerator.

"No shit," Toby says as he bends down and grabs something out.

"Can you be serious for two seconds, Jeffers?"

He whips around so fast, I don't even see what he slams against the counter he backs me into. "How about you be serious, Anna," he growls, his bare chest pressing into mine, his skin hot to the touch. "I know you're pretty fucking smart. Figure it the fuck out."

His eyes—dark and full of emotions I couldn't name—stare right through me. "What is there to figure out? It's a simple answer. Yes or no?"

"Let's see," he growls and bows his head, making sure those intense eyes are on mine. "What element do you have to have in order to do a DNA test before a baby is even fucking born?"

"DNA … I guess, saliva, blood, something like that."

"Bingo!" he calls out, his hands coming to rest on either side of the countertop that bites into my back, just above my butt, that would be the perfect height to— "And when have I provided any of those to anyone, Prune?" The smile that stretches his lips holds no humor as he closes in, so near that I feel the tickle of his facial hair when he speaks and the brush of his skin against my raised nipples through the thin tank. "Tell me. When."

"I, um …"

"Exactly . " His eyes roll, the whites a severe contrast to the darkness in his irises. "How can this bitch have a positive DNA test when she hasn't compared the shit to my DNA?"

I release a puff of air in Toby's face. "But what about the tape?"

"Of?"

"I …" I don't know.

"Right," he spits, shaking his head. "You assumed, didn't you?"

"I …"

He rolls his tongue along his teeth, the flash of pink flesh doing enough to me that I can't form a thought, let alone a rebuttal.

"Did you even watch it, Anna?" he snarls and snags my wrist off of the counter. "Watch me sink this dick"—he punctuates it by placing my willing hand between his legs—"inside her pussy? Bareback and ready to make her cum?"

If it's possible, my entire body throbs when he bumps my palm against his groin and—

Oh, God, he's hard.

My heart is ready to pound right out of my chest, but he doesn't stop there.

Instead, he cups my hand, clamping my grip around him, and my fingers instinctively wrap along the hardness behind his athletic shorts.

" Ung … Mama," he nearly whimpers and leans in, his lips grazing my temple. "The only pussy I'm coming inside is the one I know is mine ."

I can't stop the shudder that overtakes me, the heat that floods my lower stomach and beyond if I dare to admit it.

"But I'm not the bike that comes with training wheels." The grip cupping my hand squeezes, then disappears, leaving a frozen chill in his wake.

I pant against the countertop, while Toby returns to the stove. "Thirty minutes until dinner's ready." He glances over his shoulder, the heat in his gaze scorching me. "Why don't you go take care of that ?"

His words send a shiver down my spine, and without hesitation, I clamor to the bedroom, needing to distance myself from him as fast as possible.