Page 13 of Nicks and Cuts

“He sounds painful.”

Shannon paused, then nodded. “Yeah. He was.” He finished his coffee and put the mug in the dishwasher. “Whatever that coffee is, I like it. I’ll buy a bag of beans.”

“It’s fine. Tea and coffee are included.”

“Are you sure? Because I saw the way you looked at the mug.” He ate the last bite of omelet and rinsed the plate while still chewing. It all seemed very precise, like he knew exactly how to get out the door on time.

“It’s a lot of coffee.”

“That’s the idea.” He patted his pocket, grabbed his phone, and took a chicken curry out of the fridge. “Fingers crossed I’m back for dinner. Need me to do anything or pick up anything on my way?”

He was starting to see why people saw Shannon’s kindness and bled him dry. “How about you let me worry about dinner? And if there’s some kind of food-related emergency, I am quite capable of driving to the grocery store.”

Shannon blinked. “Yeah, of course.” He shook his head. “It’s me; I encourage people to use me.”

“That’s not what I was getting at.” It kind of was, but not in those words. “You’re a generous, caring person and maybe some people see that and take advantage.”

Shannon’s eyebrows lifted as if he was thinking of something else. “I’m so tempted to make a quip, but yesterday I promised myself that I wasn’t going to make things weird or uncomfortable.”

He tried not to be disappointed even though that was the smart thing to do. “Go, so you aren’t late.”

He gave Dante a mock salute, which was insulting as he was not an officer, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving it looking like he’d never been there, which was more than he could say about some of his previous lodgers.

A few minutes later, his SUV started up, and then he was gone. For several heartbeats, Dante sat at the kitchen table with his half-eaten bowl of cereal. Usually, he was relieved when his lodger went to work and he had the house to himself. But yesterday, he’d noticed a creeping disappointment that Shannon had left for the entire day, and today, the house felt far more empty than usual.

It was ridiculous. He was used to living by himself. He liked living by himself after being on bases surrounded by hundreds or thousands of people. He could spend the day in the workshop banging around without disturbing anyone or answering to anyone. No one expected anything from him.

Hell, if he didn’t make dinner, he was sure Shannon wouldn’t complain. If he sent a text saying he got busy, he was sure Shannon would pick up something for both of them, and that was the last thing Dante wanted.

He ate the rest of his cereal without really tasting it, his thoughts tumbling between Shannon, dinner, and the stock take that needed doing so he could order more supplies. Usually the idea of doing a supply run was exciting as it meant going away for a night, maybe two, and in the city, he didn’t have to worry about running into people he might know.

He raked his fingers through his hair and slouched in the chair, not wanting to admit that he didn’t want an anonymous hook-up. He wanted Shannon.

“Dumb move, Cutler.” Though he wasn’t sure which move he was referring to. Had it been turning up at Shannon’s motel room?

Or before that, encouraging his flirting at Pride when he should’ve been focused on selling his knives and chopping boards?

Or maybe it was agreeing that he could rent the room, putting them under the same roof and allowing temptation to grow.

He was not sixteen, and he would not be led around by his dick, nor was he twenty-six and ignoring what was definitely a bad idea.

He was older, wiser, and definitely able to ignore the confident, sexy paramedic who kept smiling at him like bad ideas didn’t exist.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

“You made a whole roast? You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.” Shannon stared at the spread on the kitchen counter. When Dante had said he’d cook dinner, he thought Dante meant a little simple something. He’d gotten in and gotten changed into sweats, even though he needed to get his ass into gear and find a gym and get back into some kind of routine.

He should’ve gotten home, as he was calling it because it was his homebase at the moment, and gone for a run or something. Instead, he’d been presented with a slow-cooked roast beef with potatoes and steamed beans and stuff. His ex would have never… Too much fat, too much meat, too much effort.

It hadn’t been like that at the start; his ex had been quite good at throwing together salads and cooking both tofu and meat, usually chicken for Shannon. As with everything else, Shannon didn’t remember when that had stopped. Maybe around the time he refused to cook meat, so Shannon started doing it, and then he’d ended up doing most of the cooking, or they got takeout.

“It’s easy to roast a lump of beef, and it will do several dinners, so it’s actually less work for me. Plus, I know you’re happy to eat leftovers ‘cause you meal-prepped a bunch of lunches.”

“Only assholes don’t eat leftovers, and that’s because they prefer the taste of your sweat.”

“That’s a brutal assessment.”