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He didn't seem the least bothered by the wound on his shoulder, or the one to the side of his temple, the stitches going back into his hairline that they'd needed to shave slightly to put the sutures in.
I figured he would come home, lounge around for a few days, take advantage of the sympathy he would find from his friends.
But, nope.
Seeley was usually the first of everyone up, sweeping up the floor, putting on coffee, even going out to freaking wash the bikes.
"He should be taking it easy," I objected, watching him out the window for the third day in a row, cleaning already clean bikes.
"He wouldn't even if you told him to," McCoy informed me. "He's hungry to prove himself."
"Hasn't he done that already?" I asked, shaking my head. "What do you guys want from him? The promise of his firstborn son? He can't even lift his arm, but he's out there washing your bikes and making your meals and cleaning your clubhouse."
"Pretty sure you've been taking some of those tasks away from him," McCoy said.
"Yeah, because he should be taking it easy. And he won't do that if there are tasks to be done. Because your opinion matters to him."
"Not so much mine, Harm," McCoy said. "Huck's."
"Yeah, well, when he shows his face, I am going to tell him, too."
"Tell who what?" Huck asked, rolling out of bed at ten in the morning.
"You missed breakfast," I told him, more frustrated than I should have been over the fact. But a little voice in the back of my head reminded me that the main reason I'd made a big breakfast spread in the first place was as a sort of truce with Huck for my surly behavior when he'd forced me to come over. And then when I thought he'd screwed up my computer when he brought it over. And, you know, most mornings before I had time to properly wake up and get my coffee. He'd taken it all like a champ. And I wanted to do something nice because of that over the past several days.
Hence the breakfast.
And the fact that I was a little bitter about the fact that he'd missed it.
"You cooked?" he asked, stopping mid-stride to turn to look at me, eyes wide.
"Yeah. We had waffles and omelets and homemade hash browns..."
"Those were bangin'," Remy said, nodding. "Dunno what you put in there, but it was pure magic."
"You cook?" Huck asked again, looking at me like something wasn't adding up.
"Yes, I cook. That's why my ass is the size that it is," I said, trying for a joke. Or so I was telling myself. A part of me just wanted his attention on my ass again.
Considering he'd been doing some heavy flirting up until he'd installed me in his bedroom, it had all oddly fallen away since then. I swear he barely even looked my way now, let alone made comments about thongs or knowing I wanted him like he wanted me.
"Why didn't someone tell me?" he asked, sounding almost upset about the whole thing.
"You were up late," Remy said, shrugging.
"Yeah, but she cooked."
"Ah, I am going to assume you guys don't have home cooked meals often."
"I mean, what Seeley throws together."
"Unseasoned steak and a side of greasy freezer fries?" I said, shaking my head. "That's not exactly cooking."
"Was it really that good?" Huck asked, glancing at his men, looking like a little kid who had missed the ice cream truck.
"Yeah," McCoy told him, seeming to enjoy teasing Huck.
"Are you going to cook again?" Huck asked, looking over at me.
"If the mood strikes," I said, shrugging, deciding I was enjoying teasing him a bit too.
As a whole, he seemed so stalwart, so unflappable. It was entertaining to see him looking worked up about something. And it was hilarious that that thing was a meal he'd missed.
"How long might that be?"
"I don't know, " I said, shrugging, making my way out of the room. "But maybe next time you can be awake for it," I added, smiling as I went up the stairs toward the second floor.
For such a big man, he could move as quietly as a cat when he wanted to. I had no idea he was following me until the door slammed behind me after I'd gone into my room.
"What..." I started, turning, heart tripping into overdrive.
Sure, things had been calm. There hadn't been any more drive-bys, anyone getting hit with rocks, but a part of me was still on edge when there were sudden noises.
"So," Huck said, leaning back against my bedroom door, giving me that cocky little smile of his. "What kind of mood do you have to be in to cook again?" he asked.
"What?" I asked, shaking my head.
"What kind of mood do you need to be in to cook again? Need some complimenting? Some help with something?" he asked, pushing off the door, making his way toward me, head dipped down to keep my eye contact. "Or do you need to come so hard you forget what day of the week it is?" he asked, his front pressing into mine, making me take a step back. "Yeah, I think that's what it would take," he said, seeing something in my gaze that I meant to hide from him.
