Page 12 of Ruger
Just as I cracked open the Nutri-Grain bar, the buzzer sounded. I paused before slowly making my way to the camera by the door. I could see a guy standing by the elevator in a black chef's coat with some kind of rolling case at his side. I had no idea how to let him up, and I certainly didn't want to, considering I had people looking for me.
My phone buzzed with another text.
734-322-2112:
Let him up. The code is the last four digits of my phone number.
Me:
How do I know it's safe?
734-322-2112:
I wouldn't send anyone who would bring you harm, Mona.
I put in the code and waited for the guy to come up. Once the elevator doors opened, I gave him a friendly smile, and he smiled back.
"I'm Jaxson... Kenzi, right?" He introduced.
This man was fucking fine. His dark skin looked like melted dark chocolate, and his teeth were Colgate white. His eyes were dark and mysterious — just like Ruger's — with a healthy beard that looked soft, with thick eyebrows that women wished they could obtain, and waves that made me seasick.
When this is over, I'm finding me a dick to ride. This is crazy!
Finding my voice, I replied. "I am."
He smirked, probably noticing me checking him out. "Cool, I came to feed you. I don't do this for everybody, but apparently, my brother has to be fond of you."
"Ruger's your brother?"
"Affirmative."
"I highly doubt that man is any kind offondof me," I replied, heading to the table. "But thank you for coming to feed me."
He only chuckled and moved to the kitchen.
I watched as Jaxson washed his hands then opened up the case, pulling out veggies, meats, and all the ingredients for breakfast. Jaxson was smaller than Ruger in size, but I could see the contours of muscles on his forearms that were littered with tats. The way he moved around the kitchen like he was about to throw down had me anticipating the meal he was about to prepare.
"Do you have any food allergies?" He asked the question, but my horny ass was so busy staring at him that my answer was delayed.
I snapped out of my trance, picked up my phone to distract me, and answered, "Tomatoes."
"Got you." Putting on a chef's hat, a beard mask, and black latex gloves, he began taking out pots and pans while I busied myself with scrolling Facebook. After ten minutes of silence, I decided to make conversation.
"So, you ride too?"
"I do."
"Nice. What kind of bike do you have?"
"We only ride Harleys, baby. I have a street glide."
"Ghana was trying to teach me how to ride, but that bike was too heavy for my little ass. Besides, I was afraid of falling."
"It's really not that hard once you take your foot off the pavement. Doing it scared is what makes you successful."
"True. Do you own a restaurant?"
"Yeah, two. Santana's and Honor Thy Food. Both in remembrance of my late father."
