Page 62 of Another Man’s Treasure

And it’s so godsdamned beautiful.

Wilder

Once Oz falls asleep, I stare at his sleeping form for a while, admiring his muscular dips and curves. He sleeps with one wing tucked at his back and the other draped huge over the edge of his nest. Like all gargoyles, the wooden headboard wall is blank—a spot he’ll carve with his family memories once he takes a mate.

Every other wall is covered with carvings. A male and female I assume must be the grandparents. There appear to be lots of happy memories, and I’m thankful for that. But seeing all the memories carved into his nest walls reminds me just how little I actually know about him.

I can’t sleep, even though he’s softly snoring against the back wall, tail wrapped firmly around his thigh. His cock—finally spent—rests against his leg. His cum still covers his lower belly, and it takes everything in me not to lean down and lick him clean. I don’t want to wake him, though, and now is a good time for me to learn a little more about him.

Not in a snoopish sort of way, I hope.

Rising, I leave his bedroom and head back toward the main room. I’ll grab more water for when he wakes. In the kitchen, I admire a collection of vintage-looking spice jars. He must enjoy cooking, or collecting kitchen shit at the very least. Yet when I open the fridge, there’s almost nothing there but takeout boxes. Frowning, I consider that I haven’t actually seen him eat that much unless we’ve been at the coffee shop.

Hmmm. I don’t like that. That’s gonna change.

Looking around the kitchen, I note a few more things I don’t love—trash overflowing with takeout containers. Random bottles of water mostly filled, meaning he never finished drinking them. I know he works a lot and keeps somewhat odd hours, but I need him to take care of himself.

Or let me do it.

Standing at his island, I consider what I’m doing. We’ve never been on a real date. Tonight’s the first time we’ve even come close to talking about a real date. Everything feels backwards. But maybe that’s fine, because I’m about to do something even more backward.

Heading back to the bedroom, I lie down, hoping for at least a few hours of sleep. But I set my alarm for when the store opens so I can grab some things for him.

Hours later, my eyes spring open before the alarm even goes off. I hop out of bed and dress, then head out of Oz’s apartment, careful to leave the door cracked so I can get back in. Half an hour later, I’m back with three bags full of groceries. Eggs, milk, some things to bake for him but also meal prep if he wants it.

I’m second-guessing if this is way overstepping when he shows up in the kitchen wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and his hair in that sexy little bun on top of his head. He slides onto a barstool and eyes the groceries. “So, you figured out my dirty little secret, huh? All I eat is takeout.”

I run both hands through my hair. “Is this too much? I just…I thought we could cook together, and I’d love to prepare some things so you don’t have to eat out if you don’t want to.”

Ginger whines up at me.

“Plus Ginger needs treats,” I tack on.

He laughs. “That sounds…really nice, actually. Growing up, my granny cooked every meal because my folks worked a lot so I lived with her. She tried to teach me, but I was a poor student. These days, I’m just so busy.” He winks. “And some monsters have been keeping me even busier than usual, you know.”

I pat the tray of eggs I left out on the counter. “Can I make up for that by cooking you a proper breakfast? I was thinking omelets and some protein muffins. It’s what I usually eat.”

Amethyst eyes drift appreciatively down my body. “Mmm. Is that what you’ve been doing, Wild? I thought it might have been all that…riding.” He nips his lower lip suggestively, and my knees buckle.

I grip the countertop to keep myself upright because everything this male does tantalizes me.

“Breakfast,” I demand. “And then you can do whatever you want with me until your schedule for the day starts. I’m not…not sure what you’ve got going on.”

He lifts both muscular arms over his head, stretching as he does the same with both beautiful wings. “Mmm, I’ve got a dinner shift at Whiskey Biz, but that means I’m free until four. Free for whatever you want. If you’re free, I assume.” Dark lashes flutter against his high cheekbones.

Ah, that weird dance where you’re dating, and it’s new, and you don’t want to assume the other person has all the free time to hang with you. Or even wants to. Even if you desperately want them to want to.

“I’m yours,” I say confidently. “Although, if I’m honest, it wouldn’t surprise me for Willa to show back up and have some other adventure to drag us on.”

“It’s pretty interesting, don’t you think?” Oz cocks his head to the side as I watch him. “What do you make of the whole underground lair thing?”

“Tell me where I can find a bowl, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

He stands and rounds the island, bending low and waggling his ass as he grabs a bowl from a low shelf.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” I manage when he stands and hands me the mixing bowl.

“I aim to please,” he says with a saucy grin. “Now, tell me about these muffins and what you think about Willa’s adventures.”