I stared at him as he turned with his mug and walked to me.
He stopped across from me, listening at the same time leaning a hip against the counter and sipping at his mug, casual, calm, at ease while my heart was beating so hard I could feel it.
He put the mug down by mine, reached out, picked up one of my Pop-Tarts and was lifting it toward his mouth when he stopped lifting to speak again.
“You don’t get me, Hill. I don’t care how much she owes you. What you need to know is, she got herself some good friends. These friends had a look at you, and we know more than you want us to know. You don’t want us usin’ that information, you move on with your life and Clara doesn’t hear from you again. Now, are we clear?”
That was when he took a huge bite of my Pop-Tart (huge), and even though what he was saying was freaking me out, I contemplated toasting another duo of tarts because it had been so long since I had one, and I liked them so much, I didn’t want to miss out on a bite.
He chewed, swallowed and stated, “Man, that is not a threat. Test me and see.”
On that, he disconnected the call, dropped his phone on the counter and took another huge bite of my tart.
There was a lot to talk about and a lot to say, but, as ever…priorities.
“Do you want me to toast you some Pop-Tarts?”
He looked down at me for a brief second before he threw his head back and laughed.
Golly, he had a great laugh.
I’d forgotten that too.
When he was chuckling, just like Ink (except better), he reached out and swept my quickly drying hair off my shoulder, his fingers curled around the side of my neck and his thumb pressed up on my jaw. He then leaned over the counter, bent in, touched his mouth to mine and moved back a couple of inches.
“I’m sensin’ my girl likes her food,” he muttered, his eyes, still smiling, looking into mine.
My lungs started burning and not because my ribs were bruised.
His girl?
Was I his girl?
When did that happen?
And why did his saying that feel like I felt the first time Ink called me “Clary,” except loads better.
Loads.
He let me go, dropped the tart to my plate, moved to the cupboard and I watched mutely as he got out the box of Pop-Tarts and set another packet to toasting.
He came back and grabbed his tart (or the one he’d made his which was actually mine).
“Buck—” I started as he took a bite.
“This is the gig,” he cut me off, his mouth full.
He swallowed and spoke again.
“I know your life has been shit and it bein’ that way, normally, I’d take it slow with you. We don’t have that luxury. Until I’m one hundred percent certain Esposito took my meaning yesterday, you need protection. I’m not farmin’ that out, I’m doin’ it myself. Which means you’re here with me and you got me or one of my boys with you until I know you can breathe easy. When that happens, we’ll talk about what’s to come. Until then, you’re in this house, and when you heal, you’re on my bike and in the office at Ace. The girl who managed the office served only one purpose, eye candy for the boys. She said she knew what she was doin’, but she took the job to land herself an old man. I fired her ass two weeks ago and I haven’t found anyone to fill the position. I need someone takin’ care of business. You want that job, it’s yours. You don’t, that’s cool. You just hang and find some way to entertain yourself. Now, is that cool with you?”
In a perfect world, that would be cool with me.
Beyond cool.
Even dreamy.
I’d never lived in a perfect world.
“I…” I started, for some reason beginning to breathe heavily, “I don’t want to offend you but…” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s cool.”
He knew what I was saying.
“With that assclown ex of yours, you got taught a lesson, Toots,” he said softly. “But don’t let caution make you stupid.”
“I—” I began.
“You’re into me,” he proclaimed, and my head ticked.
It couldn’t be denied I was.
However.
I tried again, “I—”
“Don’t deny it, babe. It’s in your eyes. It’s in your voice. It’s in the way you touch me and it’s definitely in the way you light up when I touch you.”
Again, I couldn’t deny that.
“But—” I started.
Buck interrupted me again. “I give you reason not to trust me?”
“No,” I whispered.
“My boys?”
I didn’t answer, just shook my head.
“I told you last night, you don’t do us wrong, you don’t do me wrong, you got nothin’ to worry about.” He bent so his face was closer to mine. “No promises. I don’t know where we’re goin’, darlin’. What I do know is I want to find out. But if it doesn’t work, the break’ll be good.” His gaze grew intense when he promised, “I’ll see to that, baby. You have my word.”