Sinners are Winners (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 5)

“I don’t mind,” he said. “And I’ll probably leave at some point. But for now, it’s definitely interesting.” He paused. “I think you’re the first person to actually cook in the kitchen, to be honest. I’ve had the kitchen done for going on four months now, and the only thing I’ve done in it is boil water for Ramen Noodles.”

I smiled.

“That makes me happy, breaking your kitchen’s cherry,” I teased. “Hey, did you hear that Tad was sentenced to anger management classes?”

He frowned.

“No,” he said. “I would’ve thought he would’ve gotten more. That’s just a slap on the wrist.”

“Apparently he’s ‘normally not quite so volatile’ and an ‘upstanding citizen.’” I did finger quotes in the air. “And honestly, maybe he is. That man that was at that baseball game with me wasn’t the one I agreed to go out on a date with.”

“Maybe he has multiple personalities, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” he offered. “He didn’t even get community service or anything?”

I shook my head.

“Apparently, he already volunteers a lot of his time at a local underprivileged youth shelter,” I said. “He does over thirty hours there every two weeks. He has documented proof, too.”

“Huh,” he said. “Interesting.”

It was.

“I wonder what the fuck happened with him that day?” I said. “But the good thing is, he’s left me alone. Despite him being quite close to me.”

“How close?” he asked as he watched me measure the vanilla with rapt attention.

“Couple of blocks,” I answered almost absently. “That wouldn’t have been that bad, but he also works in the building across the street from me.”

“Did you know this when you agreed to a date?” he asked curiously.

I shook my head. “Not when I agreed, no. But when he picked me up for the date, he told me that he and a friend worked out of the building across the street. They’re computer techs or something.”

Lock grunted.

“I love dabbling in computers,” he admitted. “Fuckin’ sucks that we have something in common.”

I grinned up at him before going back to my eggs.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he watched me.

“Separating the egg whites from the yolks,” I said. “This recipe calls for five eggs, and four egg yolks.”

He grunted.

“That’s a lot of fuckin’ eggs,” he said.

“This is a lot of fucking cake,” I shot right back.

He snorted out a laugh and went to the counter where I could see a Keurig resting.

“Want some coffee?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Not unless you have decaf,” I replied hopefully.

He looked at me over his shoulder.

“No,” he said. “Sure don’t have that rot.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Trust me, I would much rather be drinking the real stuff,” I admitted as I started mixing the batter by hand.

“Why do you say it like that?” he asked curiously, hitting the brew button on the coffee pot and turning to rest his narrow hips against the counter.

I nearly groaned at the smell of the coffee.

I hadn’t gotten any today—decaf or no decaf. A, I couldn’t afford it, and B, I’d packed my coffee maker up last night as I’d packed.

“Because my doctor suggested, at a very young age, that I limit my intake of caffeine,” I said. “I’m only allotted a certain amount a day. I’d rather drink the decaf and have chocolate rather than drinking the coffee and getting no dessert.”

“Your doctor suggested it?” He tilted his head. “Do you have something wrong with you?”

“No,” I paused. “Not really. More like I could have something wrong with me if I wasn’t careful.” I tapped my chest right where my heart would be. “I have an irregular heartbeat. The more caffeine I drink, the worse it acts up. Nothing too serious, but something my doctor wants me to be cautious of.”

He grunted out a wordless understanding.

“How long will that cake take to bake?” he asked as I started to pour the batter into the trays.

“This one?” I paused. “About forty minutes or so.”

“You say this one…”

I winked at him.

“That’s because this is only the top layer of the bride’s cake. I still have to make the other four layers, as well as the groom’s cake, which is only one layer, but about twice as big as everything else.” I paused.

He took a seat at the opposite end of the counter from me, propped his chin in his hand, and stared at me as he silently drank coffee.

We worked in companionable silence for about ten minutes while I whipped up the other cakes. I was on the batter of the third layer when he said, “You dripped some of that batter on your chest.”

I looked down, and sure enough, there was a splatter of batter right between my boobs.

I cursed myself for wearing this particular tank top.

I’d originally meant to wear something less revealing, but then I’d decided last night to forgo doing laundry in lieu of watching two more How To Get Away With Murder episodes, and when I’d woken up this morning, all I’d have left was the one I currently had on.