The door opened a moment later, and Crash walked out amid a billow of steam. Again, he was just in the towel wrapped around his hips. Stepping into the bedroom, his eyes lifted, and then dropped as they roved her body, taking in her outfit. “Babe, don’t you have any jeans?”
“No, why? What’s wrong with this?” He shook his head and moved past her to the dresser. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a tee. She quickly averted her head as the towel dropped to the floor. Well, at least it hadn’t hit her in the face this time.
“Are those the only shoes you got?”
She glanced over her shoulder just as he was sliding his 501s up over his beautiful ass. She quickly averted her eyes and replied over her shoulder, “My beige heels, but they don’t go. Can I look now?”
“Yeah.”
She spun around and was confronted with a bare chested Crash who was fastening up his pants. He had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Darlin’, you coulda looked before. I ain’t shy.”
“Apparently not.”
His eyebrows rose as he gestured again to her outfit. “You do know you’re on the back of my bike, right?”
She lifted her arms out to her side and then let them drop. “Well this will have to do, because I don’t have anything else. I thought I was staying in a motel or with Cole and Angel. I didn’t know I’d be staying in the Batcave with you, so I guess I didn’t pack correctly. Besides, I was in a dress the other day, and you didn’t seem to care.”
He pulled a shirt over his head. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
“I’m not ready yet,” she practically whined, staring at him like he was crazy.
“What do you mean you’re not ready? You look ready to me.” He glanced over at her as he began shoving his money clip, keys and cell phone from the top of the dresser into his pockets.
“I haven’t done my hair or my makeup.”
“You look fine.”
“Crash, if you think for one minute that I’m going out looking like this-”
“Jesus H. Christ,” he growled, cutting her off. “Be quick about it or I’m leaving your ass here.”
She mimicked him in a sing-song voice, “I’m leaving your ass here. You are so effing bossy.”
His brow shot up, and he took a step toward her. “And you are so effing lucky that f-bomb didn’t just come out of your mouth.” He took another step toward her.
She took off running to the bathroom, slamming the door.
“Yeah, you better run,” he grumbled through the door as he headed to the kitchen.
“I heard that,” she yelled from behind the door.
“Women!” he muttered.
Two hours later, yes, two hours, Crash sat in a booth at a restaurant staring at Shannon. Having missed breakfast, they were ordering lunch. At least, Crash had ordered, he wasn’t sure what the hell Shannon was doing.
“I’d like the Caesar Salad please, but instead of romaine lettuce, I’d like fresh spinach. And I don’t want any egg on it. I’d like the dressing on the side and extra parmesan cheese. It is freshly grated, right?”
The waitress stood there with her pen poised over the pad, a confused look on her face. “Huh?”
Crash snatched the menu out of Shannon’s hand, passed it to the waitress and said, “Just bring her the Caesar Salad.”
Relieved, the waitress grabbed the menu and hurried away.
“Crash! Why did you do that? Now I’m not going to get what I want.”
“God forbid that’d ever happen.”
“What is wrong with you?”