“You have time to shower. Still plenty of hot water,” Michaels said, without turning around. Judge heard him whistle and Bookem hurried over to him, happily taking a piece of cooked beef from Michaels’ finger tips. He patted Bookem on his head, talking nonsense to him while he went about preparing their late dinner.
Judge couldn’t watch another minute. He grabbed his toiletries kit and got into the bathroom like it was a place of refuge. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes, taking a couple deep breaths. Seeing Michaels treat his dog like that was the equivalent of watching how a new love interest interacted with your kids. He was amazing with Bookem and it was obvious Book liked him right back. It pulled at Judge’s heart. Food wasn’t the quickest way to his heart, although it helped, but Bookem was. Most men feared him and didn’t want him anywhere around. Judge would simply fuck them quickly and send them on their way. Michaels was not the norm. He was partner material. Judge turned on the taps and grimaced at his next thought. Michaels was going to make some man very happy one day.
Judge was clipping the stray ends of his beard when there was light tapping at the door, then it was cracked open. Judge stopped and looked into Michaels’ radiant blue eyes.
“The food is ready,” he said.
Judge turned back to the mirror. “I’ll be out in a second.”
“Okay,” Michaels said, not moving. He met Judge’s gaze in the mirror, making him slightly self-conscious.
“What?” Judge asked regretfully, thinking Michaels would say something fucked up like “You should cut off your beard; it might make you look younger.”
“I was just watching.” He turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at him in the mirror. “Don’t trim too much; I like it thick with a little length on it. And don’t you dare touch those grays.”
Judge was slack-mouthed as Michaels closed the door and left him to finish grooming. More warmth spread through Judge’s core, but doubt was quick on its heels. Could he really like Judge’s beard and his sprinkled in grays? It made no sense. Especially with Michaels being so young. Judge rinsed off his scissors and threw them back into his bag. He was sick of second-guessing himself all of a sudden. That wasn’t like him. Judge was who he was, take it, or leave it. He couldn’t care less what the hotshot dick thought… he desperately tried to convince himself.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Michaels didn’t want it to look like he was trying too hard. Like they were having a dinner date or something, so he made up Judge’s plate and left it in the kitchenette with a paper towel covering it and he sat down at the table with his. He peeked at his open laptop and made sure that Switch’s girlfriend was still at home. The red light blinking on the enlarged map would tell him if she stepped a foot out her door. The IT guys had hooked them up. Now they didn’t have to stare out the window with binoculars all night. He laughed when he heard a crackle and a loud crunch. He looked behind him and saw Bookem was as snug as a bug on his pillow chewing the large Milk-Bone treat he’d picked up for him at the store.
Michaels knew he was taking a liking to Judge... hell even the dog. The man had loosened up substantially and Michaels hadn’t felt like kicking anyone’s teeth in for over twenty-four hours. That was rare as of late. Not even the assholes who were shooting at them had made him flip out. Michaels definitely wanted to kill them, but he wasn’t angry. That horrible burn that flowed through his veins when he was really mad; that made him feel like his skin was being poked with a zillion hot needles had been absent since Judge had fucked him. Damn, he didn’t want to lose that peacefulness.
Judge was in the bathroom getting sexy for him. Grooming that wonderful beard that had become his obsession. He had to stare at Judge’s eyes in that steamed-up mirror or else he would’ve eye-fucked the hell out of him. Standing there in nothing but a towel, tied low around those… Michaels dropped his fork when Judge stepped out of the bathroom. Goddamn. He tracked Judge’s every movement. He still wore nothing but that dang-blasted towel, all that slick black chest hair on full display. Michaels’ mouth watered and it had nothing to do with the perfectly cooked steak he’d been eating.
Judge got his plate and a bottle of water out of the fridge and came to sit down across from Michaels, completely unaware of his inner agony.
“Wow. This looks really good. I’ll gladly suffer later if this tastes half as good as it looks,” Judge said, cutting a big chunk of his steak.