“I don’t mind rules, but some of yours piss me off.”
“Language, Butcher.”
“Sorry, Ms Blessing.”
Okay. Breathe.
“I’m going to take you to breakfast,” she said, offering Butcher a hand, and I took a breath of relief. “And I expect some action on what we discussed.” That was aimed at me. And Bailey just grinned.
“Say hi to Mr Badweather,” he said.
I wanted to tell him to fuck off. But that? Would have been inappropriate.
The way I slammed the door to my accommodation shut? It was teenaged raging, and for a forty-one-year-old, it was just stupid. And then I’d no doubt woken Noah, and I was bouncing around the kitchenette, making a right racket trying to make tea. Dropping a teaspoon in the tiny sink and mouthing fuck. Fuck. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.
“What now?” he said, walking into the room, stark naked.
Fuck indeed.
“Bit of an issue this morning. Lots to sort out this week.”
“Sorry,” he said into my neck, just scooping me up. The room was cold. He was bed warm and smelly. Fuck. I loved him. And I knew exactly how stupid even thinking that made me.
“Kid was sleeping outside the door again.”
“Oh,” he said, letting me go, just enough so he could scratch his stubble. Grab my chin. Kiss me. “That’s not good.”
“No. I need to ring social tomorrow and get him sorted.”
“You sending him back?”
“No!” I said sternly. Fuck. Way to go. New relationship-sabotage-galore happening here.
“He’s only a kid.”
“Yes.”
“Is there breakfast? I feel like we need food.”
“Well.” I smirked. “That would mean doing the walk of shame to the canteen, being stared at by hundreds of kids, and getting evils from Jones, our security guy, who has already clocked us on the cameras.” I grimaced.
“Okay?”
“And taking awkward questions from Mrs Cook.”
“Fine. Is there a takeaway? Corner shop?”
“Angus down at the hotel does a fry-up?”
“Which means…”
“I’ll go grab something from the canteen. Just wait. Here’s tea.”
“Want me to…”
“Shit.”
“Shit, what?”
