I have to admit, seeing him in black sweatpants and a black t-shirt that is strained against his bulging muscular form makes it difficult. I try hard to remind myself of what he's done and that it's wrong to ogle him.
It ends up being easy to do, though, when he opens his mouth to speak and reminds me exactlywho he is.
“You realize if you keep hanging around here, I'm going to have to give my parole officer your name, address, and phone number, right?”
“Why do you need to do that?”
He sighs, annoyed. “Because you're a woman hanging around a convicted rapist. They want to keep tabs.”
That makes sense. I'm sure there are probably a number of rules for him now. Jacob crosses his arms and clenches his jaw as if he's challenging me or expecting me to turn around and leave. But he should know by now that I'm stubborn and not easily scared off.
There is, however, one thing that I need to know, and I do kind of feel bad about having to ask it.
“Will he share that information with anyone else?”
“No.”
I nod slowly. Okay. I believe him. The town won't find out I'm spending time with him, and my father won't find out where I live.
I hold the bag up in front of me again. “Hungry?”
CHAPTER 11
Remi
It's not surprising to me that he makes us sit outside by the fire again. I can't imagine that he has anyone go inside his home. What doessurprise me, though, is that he gives mehis more comfortable chair that he usually sits on to use, while he uses a log to sit on.
He doesn't particularly look all that happy about it, but I suspect that there may be a gentleman buried somewhere in there who is capable of doing many nice things.
I brought a couple of paper plates with me as well as two plastic forks in the bag, so I place them on the same stump we used when we ate the fish, and dish out our food.
Jacob grunts out something that sounds like, “Thanks,” when I hand over his plate, and it makes me smile. He's still trying to resist this, but I can see that I'm slowly wearing him down.
We eat quietly, and I admit that I end up watching him more than I watch the fire. I'm curious as to whether or not he likes the food.Ithink it's great, but I haven't cooked for anyone else before.
My mother thought it was a ridiculous thing for me to be doing with my time, and both she and my father were displeased when I took hospitality in my senior year just so that I could learn to cook.
None of my exes liked to stay in to eat either, so I never made meals for them. Eating out was a way for them to be publicized so they made sure to take advantage of that at every opportunity.
Fortunately for me, I think Jacob is really enjoying the food, even if he doesn't seem thrilled about it. His glower shifts between his plate, the fire, and on the rare occasion, me. He ends up finishing his food before I'm even halfway done with mine.
“You can have some more if you want,” I offer.
He doesn't say anything but gets up and adds more to his plate. A smirk splits my cheeks at the fact that he likes it, but when he turns in my direction, I quickly hide it by taking a bite of my food.
“You want more?” he asks, gesturing to the food.
“No, thanks. This will be enough. You can keep the rest for tomorrow if you like.”
He nods and takes his seat again, eating just as quickly as before. It makes my chest swell, and I feel good that he's enjoying it so much, even if he doesn't admit it out loud.
“Did you go fishing today?”
“Yup.”
“Did you catch something?”
He still gives me that look that says he doesn't understand why I'm talking to him but answers anyway.