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“That wasn’t nice,” Ivy scolded.
Darien headed for the kitchen, leaving the patio door open for Bandit to get back in. “That thing is so goddamn loud. The next toy he gets will be a quiet one.”
Loren sat back down and picked up her fork. She stabbed her last bite of waffle, swirled it in syrup, and popped it into her mouth.
A minute later, Bandit trotted inside, rubber chicken in his mouth. It smelled a bit like burnt rubber. I am happy to report that Cluckles is fine. He’s just missing his comb. He glared up at Darien, who stood at the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Because someone singed it off.
“Watch it, or I’ll singe off the squeaker next.”
Bandit bit down on the chicken, making it wheeze.
Darien fake-lunged at the dog, sending Bandit bounding into the living room again. Bandit growled and whipped his head back at forth, rubber chicken flapping.
Loren was so busy watching the dog that she jumped a little when Darien pulled out the chair beside her and sat down.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked, taking a sip of coffee.
“Like the dead.”
He frowned. “Don’t say that.”
“Like the…living…dead?” she tried again.
Darien’s mouth twitched—another almost-smile.
Jack snorted. “I’m not sure that’s any better.”
“I slept really well,” Loren corrected. “I feel great.”
“Good. You’ll let me know if anything changes.”
Ivy cut in. “Of course she will.” She reached across the table and set a plate of waffles in front of Darien. “And you’re going to eat.”
“You made all this?”
“I helped,” Jack said.
Ivy tipped up a brow. “He kept getting in the way, dropped a bunch of eggs, and ate half the batter.”
“Mmm,” Darien said. “Salmonella.”
Tanner finished off the last of his breakfast, readjusted the band of his sweatpants, and sat back in his chair. “What’s on the schedule for today?”
Several of them looked at Darien, Loren included—and Darien was already looking at her.
“You need a winter jacket,” Darien said.
“I don’t have any money.”
“And I told you not to worry about price tags.”
She frowned. But…she really did need a jacket. It was bitterly cold here, and…come to think of it, she didn’t even own a proper winter jacket.
“And,” Darien said, reaching under the table to drag his thumb across her forearm, “how do you feel about another one of these?”
She glanced down at her tattoo. It didn’t escape her that he didn’t need to touch her to ask that question.
And it also didn’t escape her that his touch left a trail of heat on her skin, one that lingered long after he pulled away.
