Page 127 of Damaged Protector

Pulling out the ingredients I’d purchased yesterday, I mixed up some pancake batter and added a hefty dose of chocolate chips and colorful sprinkles before putting some bacon on a pan and placing it in the oven.

I was just finishing up breakfast when I heard the front door open. “In the kitchen,” I called out.

Hawk walked in a few seconds later, his massive body flushed and drenched with sweat. No one should look that damn good after exercising. I always looked like something the cat dragged in.

I wanted to throw myself into his arms and kiss him, but Woody followed him in, so I tried to appear unaffected. It was difficult. They were both shirtless and quite yummy.

“Do I smell bacon?” Woody asked, and I could practically see the drool pooling in his mouth. “I haven’t had bacon in weeks because the smell makes Taz sick.”

“Morning sickness is kicking her butt, huh?”

“It’s kicking mine,” he muttered, and I took pity on him.

“You’re welcome to stay and eat. I cooked plenty.”

His face brightened, and he moved to the sink to wash his hands. Hawk’s eyes took in the food, and I felt a little silly. Really, Mal? Sprinkle pancakes for a grown-ass man?

“I, um, I wanted them to look festive,” I said, lifting a shoulder and letting it fall. “Happy birthday.”

“You made me chocolate chip pancakes with sprinkles?”

“Yes.” Shit, why am I such a dork? “I’m sorry. I can—”

“Kick ass!” he interrupted, and the tension inside me ebbed away as a huge grin crinkled his eyes at the corners. He crossed and placed a very roommate-appropriate kiss to the top of my head. “Thanks, Little Bee.”

“You’re welcome.”

Hawk washed his hands and then grabbed a couple towels from the laundry room, tossing one to Woody. “Clean yourself up. I don’t want you sweating on my birthday pancakes.”

The men wiped down their upper bodies and threw the dirty towels into the washing machine before we carried the food to the dining table. Feeling a little bit better about my food choice, I stuck two candles, a 3 and a 5, onto the top of Hawk’s stack and lit them.

“Make a wish,” I instructed, and he met my eyes briefly with a mischievous smirk before blowing them out.

“Ay, Dios mio,” Woody muttered. “I can only imagine what this guy wished for.”

“I’m sure it’s the same thing you wish for on your birthday,” Hawk retorted.

Woody laughed. “Yeah probably. Good luck with that.” He turned to me. “If you need to get out of the house while he celebrates tonight, you can come hang out at our place.” He apparently missed the glare my roommate shot his way, but I caught it.

“She can stay here. I don’t have any plans,” he said curtly.

Woody snapped off the end of a slice of bacon with his teeth and asked, “Why do you call her that?”

“Call who what?”

“Mal. You called her Little Bee earlier. What does that mean.”

I could see the hint of panic in Hawk’s darting eyes, so I stepped in. “He’s teasing me. I do a meditation thing that sounds like a bumblebee.”

Woody nodded, satisfied with my quick answer. “Cool. Maybe I need to meditate. Taz is killing me lately.”

“Pregnancy hormones?”

“Yes, and the weird-ass food cravings. The other day she wanted chocolate ice cream with queso on top.” We all shuddered.

We finished our meal, and Woody helped me wash the dishes while Hawk took a shower. “So, I’ll see you tonight at Bode and Landree’s?” he asked, as I placed the last dish into the dishwasher.

“Yep. Are you sure I don’t need to bring anything?”

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