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“Oh, thanks.” He cleared this throat again, his hands tightening in Norma Jean’s fur. It had been a long time since he’d had someone trying to take care of him. He’d been on his own and taking care of his mom for so long. “Um…scrambled works for me. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Grab the plates and silverware. The coffee just finished brewing if you want a cup.”
Quinn quickly put Norma Jean on the floor and washed his hands at the sink before Abe directed where to find the plates and everything. With the table set, Quinn poured himself a cup of coffee and turned to the fridge, expecting to dress it heavily with milk and sugar. His heart gave a little skip when he saw the creamer sitting in the middle of the top shelf of the fridge. It was the same creamer that Shane had picked up for the office. He’d been stunned when Shane had picked it up for him there, but for it to appear here—it felt like Shane had wanted him to stick around longer, feel comfortable in his home.
“Having trouble finding something?” Abe asked, pulling Quinn out of his swirling thoughts.
“Nope. Got it.” He grabbed the creamer and fixed his coffee before moving over to the table.
He’d just sat down when the bedroom door rumbled open and Shane shuffled out. He’d pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, leaving visible the white bandage wrapped around his left thigh. His hair was standing up and he looked beautifully rumpled and groggy. It took all of Quinn’s self-restraint not to walk over and wrap his arms around Shane, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
“You left me,” Shane mumbled. He stretched both arms over his head, pulling his shirt up so that Quinn got a tantalizing glimpse of his flat stomach. Okay, maybe he wanted to do more than nuzzle Shane, but he wasn’t moving with Shane’s dad right there.
He pointed to the stove where Abe was still working. “Bacon.”
Narrowing his eyes, Shane stopped right next to where Quinn was sitting on the end of the bench. “Were you going to save me any bacon?”
“Maybe.”
Shane ran one hand over Quinn’s hair, threading his fingers through it. “Your hair is standing up all over the place.” His voice was a low, raspy murmur that rippled through Quinn, making it harder to remain seated and not touch Shane.
“So is yours.”
Fingers tightened in his hair and Shane stared for several long seconds into Quinn’s eyes. He felt like if he strained, he could hear the wheels churning in Shane’s head as he mentally debated some deep question. A slow smile spread across his lips just before he leaned down.
Quinn jerked back at the last second and Shane froze. “Your dad,” Quinn whispered, his eyes darting to where Abe was piling pancakes on plates but could so easily turn around at that moment to look at them.
Shane’s grin returned and Quinn’s heart rate doubled. “He knows I’m gay.”
The bubble of laughter that escaped Quinn was immediately captured by Shane as he sealed his mouth over Quinn’s. That hadn’t been his point at all, but it didn’t matter anymore because Shane was kissing him. What had started out as a sweet “good morning” kiss was quickly turning dirty as Shane thrust his tongue into Quinn’s mouth, dominating him as only Shane could. Blood rushed to Quinn’s groin and a soft moan escaped him.
“All right, Shane,” Abe broke in with a chuckle. “Let the poor man eat in peace. He spent all yesterday waiting on you. He needs to eat.”
Shane pulled away and winked at Quinn, his expression little more than a dirty leer as if he wanted to say that he’d be more than happy to feed Quinn. He could feel the heat returning to his cheeks, making it impossible to meet Abe’s eyes as he turned back to the table. A plate loaded with fluffy pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs was sitting in front of him. Dear God, he never ate that much for breakfast, but nothing had ever looked so good in his life.
“Do you want me to fix your coffee?” Abe asked Shane.
“I can get it,” Quinn offered, starting to rise from the bench. His food was already forgotten.
“No. Both of you sit.” Shane pointed to the table, glaring at each of them. “I’m a little stiff, a little sore, but I can fix my own coffee. I don’t need to be babied anymore.”
“You were shot,” Quinn countered and Shane rolled his eyes.
“This is one very weak-ass gunshot wound. It’s embarrassing.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t your ass,” Abe added.
“Too true.” He sent one last smirk to Quinn before he limped over to the coffeemaker.
Quinn dug into his food and moaned softly for a totally different reason. Abe could definitely cook. The bacon was perfect. The pancakes were fluffy with this amazing little crispness along the edges.
