Chapter 19 #2
I still couldn’t believe he was cooking for us again.
And not even warmed-up leftovers, but made-from-scratch, freshly cooked fajitas because Slone had all the ingredients on hand.
But who the fuck complained about being fed fajitas that smelled so good that if I closed my eyes I could easily pretend I’d popped down to Texas for a quick snack. Not me that’s who.
Sliding off the barstool, I walked to the fridge. Before I could ask to open it, he said, “Mi casa es su casa. Help yourself.”
Speaking of worldly. Did he speak other languages? If so, how many? Every question answered added at least two more to the list of things I wanted to know about the man.
I grabbed a couple of Coronas because fajitas and twisted off the caps before setting Slone’s down on the counter next to the cutting board.
He smiled, kissing my lips quickly. He wiped the knife, grabbed a lime, quartered it, and dropped a piece in my bottle and then another in his. When he picked it up, he tilted the neck of the bottle toward me and said, “Excellent choice.”
Glass clinked as I responded, “Well, I mean, you didn’t have margs in the fridge, so I went with the second-best option.”
“Margaritas would be good. I’ll remember that for next time.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?” The laughter in my voice probably made it sound like a joke, but I was dead fucking serious. He seemed overly competent at fucking everything he did.
“I can’t do a double axel. Not even in figure skates, much less kitted out for an NCAA hockey game wearing skates without a toepick.”
I rolled my eyes, then went cross-eyed when he leaned in close. Our breath mingled; his smelled of beer and lime, and a hint of the peppers he’d sneaked. Mine probably mimicked his, since for every pepper he ate, he fed one to me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, brat.”
Sounds of sizzling meat and vegetables receded, replaced by the heat that traveled from my chest up my neck to my face as his lips met mine. His eyes slid closed, and mine followed. The closeness of our faces probably gave away my reaction to his words, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.
The kiss started soft, languid, with very little heat, but that changed. And quick. Soon we were pawing at one another. Chests pressed together, cocks turning from flaccid to interested, and hands gripping and pulling and holding on just shy of too tight.
A hint of smoke penetrated the fog that crept in and stole all conscious thought whenever he got close.
“Shit!” he swore when we parted. He turned back to the food and shooed me away with a wave of his hand. “Get the fuck on that side of the island before I burn the building down around us.”
I laughed, and instead of tempting either of us with close proximity, I took a leisurely stroll through the lower level of his loft.
The decor told a story, not some designer-curated, mass-marketed pieces anyone could pick up at a department store.
No, the story his space told was as individualistic and unique as the man currently creating a masterpiece with regular ingredients in the kitchen.
The space had no theme, no color palette, nor any of the other things my mother spoke of incessantly when decorating a space or hosting an event—small and intimate or grand and lavish—size didn’t matter, nor did cost. “You must always, always have a theme, Trey.” Her voice echoed in my head as if she stood just behind me.
Slone’s space held pieces of the life he’d lived to tell the tale of.
The bookshelves held framed photographs of him.
Of Ewen. Of Priest and Cam. Some individual snapshots, some group photos of the four of them together, some with several men, a few older than Slone, and then there was a photo that blew me away.
“You know, Katie Carter?” I asked, holding up a photo of Slone and Katie.
He smiled and nodded. “Yep. It’s a fucking weird ass story.
My buddy Hayden’s dad is friends with her dad.
Some nasty piece of work targeted her a few years ago when she first met her now husband, and they needed some personal security.
Her husband is Jackson Holt, the Holt twins’ cousin.
Anyway, long story short, her dad wanted people he could trust and not just the Holt Securities people, so he called Hayden, and Ewen, Priest, Cam and I went with him along with a couple of other Marines we know.
That’s how Priest and Cam met Bauer and Gavin. ”
I set the photo back down, moving on to other photos.
A few moments later, I picked up a hinged frame.
One side held a picture of the group all decked out in their fancy Marine uniforms, from the white hats to the blue tunic top and dark pants with a wide red stripe and mirror-shiny black shoes.
They looked so fucking sexy and deadly. On the other side, the same set of guys were clearly well past tipsy.
In the pictures, Slone looked good, but I preferred the current version.
All the guys in the photos were clean-shaven, and after experiencing Slone’s beard rasping over my naked flesh…
well, I wouldn’t have thrown the earlier version out of bed, but the current version made me contemplate investing in a set of handcuffs so I could lock us together and throw away the key.
“Chow time,” he called out, skirting around the dining table with the food-laden tray he set on the large wooden coffee table.
“You good?” he asked, pointing at my beer.