Page 68 of Bad Boy Next Door
“Ordering me around more effort than you expected?” I got the exhausted part. It was a wonder either of us still had use of our legs.
“Being your sex master was worth the effort,” she said. “I may never let you be in charge again.”
“We’ll see about that.” I retrieved a carton of eggs from the fridge, went back for the milk, then studied the instructions on the box. Bowl. I’d forgotten to buy a damned bowl.
Improvising, I took the larger of my two pots out from under the counter.
Looked big enough, and mostly clean. “Didn’t hear much objecting when I took charge near the end.”
“Yeah, well…” Her voice was starting to fade. “That’s only because you taking over was what I wanted. I was still in charge.”
“Whatever you say.”
I grabbed a coffee mug, hoping it would substitute for a measuring cup—something else I’d forgotten. How many cups were in a coffee mug? Should I ask Jade? I didn’t want to give her a chance to say, “I told you so.”
And she looked like she might be asleep. Just as well. I didn’t really need an audience for this. Or advice. I could figure it out. Even if a coffee cup bore no resemblance to an actual cup, I could use it to get the proportions of mix and milk right.
Fifteen minutes later, I waved my hand to clear the smoke, then carried our plates to the table. Jade stretched like a cat and smiled through sleepy eyes. “Something burn?”
As she moved to the table, I turned back to the bag of groceries to fetch the syrup. Syrup could fix anything. She was staring ahead like she might have fallen asleep at the table, so I gently touched her shoulder.
She jumped back, startled.
“Hey,” I said. “Sorry. Were you asleep?”
She shook her head. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Syrup?”
“Sure.”
I poured some onto her plate and watched her coiled shoulders relax. Someone from her past had hurt her, and whoever he was, I wanted to kill him.
“Not bad,” she said as she chewed her first mouthful.
“They kept sticking to the pan.”
“You need a better pan.” She pointed toward me with her fork.
“Right tools for the job.”
“Exactly.” She pushed another huge bite of pancake and syrup into her mouth and chewed with a smile.
I ate my huge stack of pancakes quickly. They might not look pretty, but they tasted okay. Finished, I leaned back and took a long swig of my beer, watching her eat. My tough girl could look so sweet at times, and right now, sleepy eyed, sitting with one leg tucked under her on the chair, she looked so young, so soft, so vulnerable.
“Who hurt you?” I asked.
“What?” Her index finger caught a drip of syrup on her chin. “What makes you think someone hurt me?”
“Old boyfriend?”
She jabbed her fork toward me. “Do I come across as a woman who’d let some asshole hurt me?”
“I guess not.” But there was something… I’d get it out of her eventually.
“Always lived in the Bay Area?” she asked.
“Yup. Born and raised. City sure has changed a lot over the years.”
