Chapter Thirteen
Vandal
“What’s all this?” I’d been in the garage for the last few hours with Slate and a couple of prospects, drilling mounts and running wire as we put cameras up around the property.
Every angle covered. Front door, back fence, cameras aimed at the stretch of road leading to the house.
I wasn’t sure when Halloran or even Ruiz would show up, but if they did, neither of us was getting caught off guard.
Macy turned from the stove, smiling at me with that sexy little half smile that always felt like it was just for me.
It was the smile that lit up her violet eyes like something damn near supernatural.
“This,” she said sweetly, gesturing at the pots and pans on top of the stove, “is called dinner. It’s an evening meal that people use to sustain and nourish them until morning. ”
“Smart ass,” I grumbled, but it only made her laugh. “Smells good as fuck in here.”
“Right?” She laughed again. “All done out there?”
I nodded, not offering more details. Not yet. It was a thin fucking line, telling her enough to make her feel safe without burdening her with the details. “I’m gonna get cleaned up.”
“I’ll be right here.” Her words came easier today than yesterday and that was progress.
I stood there longer than necessary, watching her move around the kitchen like she’d always been there. Like she belonged there. Leggings hugged her strong legs, a sleeveless shirt showing off toned arms, and the scars she never bothered to hide.
Tiny but mighty. She always had been.
My cock stirred, pressure built behind my zipper, and I forced myself to look away. To go away. Thoughts of her invaded while I was in the shower, but I shut them down hard. I wasn’t about to stroke my cock to thoughts of her. Not until she came to me and asked for more.
Until then, just friends.
I showered as quick as I could before the urge to jack off got too strong, and pulled on a pair of basketball shorts before heading back downstairs.
The smell hit me halfway down the steps.
“Fuck,” I groaned out loud, probably too loud but the smell of garlic and wine was thick in the air. “Please tell me that’s almost done.”
She turned to look at me over her shoulder, her eyes swept over my naked torso before a soft gasp escaped. “Almost,” she answered breathlessly.
Look your fill, baby girl.
I smiled to myself. I might have left the shirt off intentionally after seeing how she reacted the other day. “You know you don’t have to cook for me.” She said nothing. “Or do my laundry.” When I’d taken a shower, I’d seen three stacks of laundry on the edge of my bed, folded neatly.
She turned slowly, catching me staring at her ass. “I’m not cooking for you,” she shot back. “I’m cooking for us.” She fisted her hands at her hips. “Besides, this is what we do, right? We take care of each other.”
She had me there, tossing my words right back at me at the perfect time. I had no argument and even if I did, why the fuck would I argue when my best friend—a gorgeous woman—wanted to do nice things for me?
But something else hit me as she stood there, staring at me with a challenge in her eyes. This right here, dinner on the table, Macy smiling and giving me shit, comfortable and happy. Safe. This was the shit that was worth protecting. “Well, I appreciate it,” I said quietly.
She laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t say that, you haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“I have,” I said, my voice a little lower as I stepped closer. “And I know I want another taste.”
The blush that crept up her cheeks told me she knew damn well I wasn’t talking about the food. The blush spread and she turned back to the stove instead of responding.
“Can I help?” I stood too close and she smelled too damn good, so I needed a reason to put some physical distance between us.
“Sure,” she sighed, instructing me what dishes to pull for the meal, all without looking at me again.
I thought about putting on a shirt but the heat and naked desire in her eyes was too fucking intoxicating to get rid of, at least for a while.
Eventually dinner was ready at we sat at the table that provided just enough space that we weren’t on top of each other, but we were close. Once in a while my knees brushed hers and our gazes locked for a heated moment, and the moment was gone.
The meal was peaceful, if charged, and the food was so goddamn delicious, I could hardly believe it. It was like old times, only better because we weren’t kids and nobody could hit us or tell us what to do. “This is almost exactly how we dreamed back in the day.”
The smile that touched her full lips was so beautiful it stole my breath for a moment. I turned back to the food before I pushed things too fast. “Except way better.”
“Agreed,” I replied around a big bite of food. “You’re a damn good cook, girl.”
She smiled. “Thanks,” she answered on a shrug.
“I lived alone after I left the group home and learning to cook was pretty much a necessity. All those hours after work, alone in tiny apartments felt shorter when I was in the kitchen. I took my time and learned how to cook real food from scratch.” Her smile was proud and I couldn’t help but smile in return.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I told her honestly. “Though I don’t love that you always lived alone. No girlfriends?”
She shook her head, no emotion in her tone or her eyes. “Not that I trust enough to share my personal space with, and definitely not their boyfriends.”
Her tone made me think of all the reasons why she didn’t want those boyfriends around but now wasn’t the time for anger. Or those kinds of questions. “What about your boyfriends?”
She shrugged those delicate shoulders and looked away. “A few failed relationships not worth mentioning. Basically I dated guys I should’ve poisoned instead of bending over backward to please.” She was so matter of fact about it, but I hated that shit. I wanted to kill them already.
“Names,” I demanded.
Her eyes widened, then she laughed. “Not worth the jail time.”
I grinned at her and pointed to my plate. “So what is this that I can’t get enough of?”
“Shrimp risotto Milanese,” she said. “Shrimp risotto with saffron, white wine, and cream.” She hesitated, then smiled shyly. “It’s definitely not cheesy tuna rice.”
“Thank fuck for that,” I shuddered. “I still have nightmares about that kitchen experiment.”
The laugh that exploded out of her was vintage Macy, loud and warm, totally unguarded when it was just us. The rest of the meal continued in the same light-hearted and homey manner. It felt right.
“Since you ate all the food, how about a movie?”
“Sounds good. Was that chocolate pudding I saw in the fridge?”
She was grabbing the wine and heading towards the living room. “Pudding,” she scoffed. “No, it’s mousse but it’s not fancy. It’s bananas, cocoa powder and peanut butter.”
“Fuck, that sounds incredible.”
She laughed again. “You’re easy to please.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, taking the not-fancy mousse from the fridge. “Or maybe you just know what I like.” I took the seat right next to her on the sofa, probably too close but I hadn’t seen her in too long and I couldn’t get close enough.
Macy tucked her legs under her, but she leaned against my side the way she always did, comfortable and most of all, she was at ease.
I felt her warmth run up and down the left side of my body, the scent of her invaded my senses making it hard to focus on whatever the fuck was playing on the TV. She was as aware of me as I was of her, but she didn’t act on it.
I didn’t either.
Except sliding my arm around her. I did that because we’d always done it and it had always felt right. Tonight, it felt more than right.
And when she settled her head on my chest the way she’d done thousands of times before, my chest relaxed and expanded the way it had every single time she gave me her trust. My breath caught, hell yeah it probably always would, but I stayed still with my eyes focused on the screen.
Macy let out one of those contented sighs that told me she felt safe and comfortable with me, and that sound meant everything to me. She fell asleep first—probably from the wine—and sat there for a few minutes too long and just listened to her breathing as it mixed with the night sounds.
This was as perfect as a night could fucking be and I wanted to savor it, to capture it in amber to keep the rest of the world from touching it. But I knew better than most that the real world didn’t work that way, so I got up, checked the cameras and made sure the place was locked up tight.
Macy was worth fighting for. Our friendship was worth protecting.
That’s what I repeated on a loop as I carried her up to bed.