Page 16 of Handcuffed Hussy
My head shot up, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. She was leaning against the doorway with a spatula in her hand, flour on her face, and a smile that could light up even the darkest of hearts.
"Morning." My voice came out rough, strangled by sheepishness over my actions the night before and a sudden desire to see this woman every morning for the rest of my life. Preferably without the hangover.
She spun around and hurried back into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Come on in here and get some of my special Bailey-cakes."
I looked around for my jeans, unwilling to stand up until I'd covered myself and the rising evidence that I found her sexy as sin. Unlike her usual put-together self, she'd had on a pair of sweats that said Pink across the butt and a loose sweatshirt that looked like it had been washed and worn within an inch of its life. The funny thing is, I'd never seen her look more beautiful.
"Hurry up! They're gonna be cold if you don't get a move on, Detective."
I found my jeans on the armchair and slid them on, followed by my shoes that were neatly placed by the chair. Clearly, she'd taken care of me last night when I was incapacitated.
I made my way into the kitchen, squinting at the harsh light. Served me right though for being an idiot last night. I needed to thank her, needed to apologize for anything I said and did last night.
"Bailey--"
"Oh, now it's Bailey, huh? I kinda liked Bae." She handed me a plate stacked with pancakes and flashed a saucy wink.
I wasn't the blushing type, but I swear it got a thousand degrees hotter in that kitchen all of a sudden. I'd been calling her 'Bae' in my head for months now...since it was her name shortened, but also what people called their 'baby' for short. Seemed apropos in my head, never imagining I'd actually call her that out loud.
I rubbed the back of my neck and looked up at her through my lashes. "Yeah, about that..."
"Oh, for God's sake, have a seat and eat! You got drunk, you said some things. It's over. We all do that on occasion, I don't hold it against you." She looked exasperated with me, not over my drunken behavior last night, but my timidness this morning.
I plopped myself down in a chair and picked up my fork. "All I want to say is thank you." Her head whipped up, mid-bite. "Thank you for getting me home and taking such good care of me. That was thoughtful."
I dug into my pancakes, content that I'd thanked her and we'd cleared the air. Now I could examine why her thoughtfulness struck such a chord with me and what that meant going forward. It was like I'd seen another side to her that I didn't know existed. I wanted a woman who would take care of me and brighten my day. She'd done both those things, and we weren't dating. Hell, we didn't even like each other most days. Could I have been wrong about her?
Damn, plus these pancakes were fucking amazing. I glanced up to comment on her cooking and realized she'd stopped eating, just picking at her pancake.
“Something wrong?”
She smiled, overly cheerful, saying "Nothing."
Now I'm no expert, but when a woman says nothing's wrong, you damn well know something is most definitely wrong.
