Page 27 of Thick

Always.

It seemed Tate not only recognized that as being true, but expressed it in the background and backstories of his heroines.

His heroes didn’t cheat. They were all faithful to their heroines, protective of them, and never abused them. From what had become the norm in romance writing today, it was a refreshing change to see heroes be just that, true heroes.

I set my Kindle aside. His men – all his men – lived by a moral code that every man could benefit from adhering to. Through their course of travels in the books, if they encountered others who seemed to have lost their moral compass, they redirected them, often using violence or the threat of such as leverage.

The real world would be a better place if it were filled with the men of Tate’s books. I couldn’t help but wonder if the men in Tate’s life – the men he rode with – were similar to the men he wrote about. Intrigued by the thought of such men existing, I gazed at the ceiling and considered the notion.

After a few moments, I decided it was wishful thinking. Real-life men didn’t actually possess such qualities. The books were fiction for a reason. They were nothing more than fairy tales for adults. It was nice to think about such things, but the heroes in many books were custom-tailored for the stay at home wife that had nothing better to do than read and dream.

A dull thud of a knock my door brought me out of my subconscious slumber. I gazed across the room and grinned.

“I’m coming.”

I peered through the peephole. Holding a plastic bag in each hand, Andy rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Wearing a grin, I opened the door. “Good afternoon.”

He ducked underneath my arm and headed straight for the kitchen. “It’s still morning. I wanted to get here before lunch,” he said. “To make sure you had plenty of points.”

“I’ve only used five, so far.”

“We’re going to use seven, and you’re going to love it.”

I closed the door and turned toward the kitchen. “Seven, huh?”

He nodded. “I looked it up.”

Considering his sweet tooth, I was curious as to what he had planned. He had only good intentions, but his snack suggestions often left me telling him no due to the caloric content.

“What are we going to have for seven points?” I asked.

He waved his hand toward me and then brushed the bags to the side with his other arm, as if to hide them. “Go sit down. Don’t bother trying to peek in here, either. This is a surprise.”

I gave him a look.

“I’ll tell you when I’m done,” he said.

I let out a sigh and walked to the living room. “Fine.”

Facing away from the kitchen as he prepared the snack made the wait a little more interesting. The sound of silverware and pans clanking around only added to my curiosity. Soon, the faint aroma of peaches found its way into the living room. My mouth salivated at the thought of eating a peach. It seemed I’d all but forgotten they existed.

In five minutes, he walked into the living room holding two bowls. He handed me one of them. “You can thank me later.”

I looked at his seven-point masterpiece. Ice cream, a halved peach that had been cooked and drizzled with caramel, and a decorative spritz of whipped cream stared back at me.

Seven points my ass.

“This is not seven points.”

He sat across from me and wagged his spoon toward the contents of his bowl. “A cup of Halo Top ice cream. Four points, and it’s infused with protein. Fat free Cool-Whip, 0 points per two-teaspoon serving, but they call it a point if you double that, and I did. So, one point. Two teaspoons of brown sugar, two points. Four, plus one, plus two is seven.”

He scooped up a bite with his spoon, raised it to his mouth, and ate it. “Dear Lord. This is heavenly.”

With slight reluctance, I took a bite, making sure to get a piece of peach, ice cream, whipped cream, and the melted brown sugar all at once.

Upon tasting it, my eyes went wide. I hadn’t tasted anything so heavenly in years. I swallowed it, looked at the bowl, and then at him. “Holy crap.”