Chapter Six #3
“Don’t fall for it,” Crowbar said. “She ate an hour ago.”
“Manipulative. I respect it.” I scratched behind her ears and she collapsed sideways across my legs, instantly content. “So. Did I say anything else catastrophically humiliating, or can I stop bracing?”
“You told Deadeye you’d die for him.”
“I would. His energy is immaculate. Terrifying, but immaculate.”
“You told Drift his beans were transcendent.”
“They were. I stand by that sober.”
“You told him if we didn’t work out, you were proposing to him over his cornbread.”
I mentally groaned. “Anything else that’ll shoot me past witness protection and into hermit in the mountain?” I licked the butter off my fingers, noticing the way his eyes tracked the movement. “I really called you pookie.” No regrets.
“In front of my whole crew.”
I set my fork down. “In my defense, that pill was very strong, and I have no impulse control even without pharmaceutical assistance.” I watched his eyebrows climb a fraction of an inch. “It suits you. I’m not taking it back. Do your worst.”
The toothpick rolled from one side of his mouth to the other. He looked at me for a long moment, those storm-cloud eyes moving across my face.
“Holler’s been calling me pookie since you passed out,” he said.
“Good. Peer reinforcement. It’ll stick faster.”
“Deadeye made a sign for the garage.”
“I love Deadeye. I take back every fearful thing I said about him.”
The corner of Crowbar’s mouth curved, softening the hard lines of his face.
“How’s the arm?” he asked.
I flexed my fingers inside the sling, testing, but the deep ache was still there, a bruise that went all the way to the bone. “Better than last night. Worse than I’ll admit.”
“That’s what I figured.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You work today?”
“Day off. Deb doesn’t schedule me on Saturdays yet. I’m still in the probationary period where she’s deciding whether I’m a liability or an asset.”
“Which are you?”
“Both.” I picked up a strawberry and bit into it. “Why did you ask?”
“Thought we’d spend the day in town. Get you out. Walk around. Nothing strenuous.” His eyes dropped to the sling. “Give that arm a rest from real life for a few hours.”
The offer was so simple it almost hurt. A day in town. Walking around. Like normal people who did normal things and didn’t have ex-boyfriends counting down restraining orders or arms held together by pain meds and stubbornness.
Secret babies, hidden heirs, and marriages of convenience—old favorites still work for a reason.
Pick your next guilty pleasure on Lokepub.
“With Noodles?” I asked.
“With Gunner.”
“Noodles.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m delightful.” I finished the last strawberry and looked down at the empty plate. He’d fed me. Cooked for me, carried a tray to the bed, and was making sure I ate. My throat went tight, making me wonder if all of this was really free.
“Hey.” Crowbar’s voice was low, pulling my attention back. “None of that.”
“None of what?”
“That look. The one where you’re trying to figure out what this costs.”
My breath caught. He’d read me like a book with large print and pictures.
“Everything costs something,” I said quietly. “That’s been my experience.”
“Then your experience has been shit.” He said it without heat. “Breakfast is breakfast. A day out is a day out. There’s no invoice.”
I blinked hard, twice, and picked up the mug. The coffee was strong and black, exactly the way I didn’t take it, but I drank it anyway because he’d made it for me.
“I need to brush my teeth,” I said.
“Bathroom’s the door behind me. There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet.” He stood, lifting Noodles off his chest without waking her and setting her gently on the bed. “Your clothes from last night are folded on the dresser. Washed them this morning.”
He’d washed my clothes. My khakis and my polo and probably my socks, which had a hole in the left toe that I’d been pretending didn’t exist.
“You washed my clothes,” I repeated.
“They smelled like barbecue smoke.”
“You washed my clothes at…” I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was nine-fifteen. “What time did you get up?”
“Six.”
“You got up at six on a Saturday to wash my clothes and make me breakfast.”
“Drift made the eggs.”
“Stop deflecting with Drift.” I set the mug down and crooked my finger. Crowbar leaned in. I kissed him on the cheek. Not where I wanted to kiss him. “Last night, I started to tell you something.”
Crowbar’s breathing was slightly ragged. “My eyes.”
“I was going to say they’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Sober verdict. For the record.”
“Appreciate it,” he said, his voice rough. “Get dressed.”
Another peck on his cheek. Crowbar softly growled. “Playing with fire, Spencer.”
“Playing for keeps.”
He collected the tray with the efficiency of someone who’d done this before.
Not the breakfast-in-bed part specifically, but the caretaking.
The quiet, practical kind that didn’t announce itself.
At the door, he glanced down at me, his eyes soft.
“Already caught me, Indoors.” Then he walked out, Noodles trailing behind him.