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She frowned. “Bagel this morning?”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “Only thing edible at the airport.”
“Truth.” He slid back off the bed, then nodded to Randy. “Wake up Sleeping Beauty. I’ll make us some omelets.” Tristan dragged on a pair of workout shorts and a T-shirt.
“Wait,” she called after him. “Do I have time to take a shower?”
“A quick one unless you like cold eggs.” Tristan headed down the hall to raid the kitchen. He could use a shower himself, but if he got in there with her, there would definitely be no food. Unless she’d sneaked some of her blasted Pop Tarts into his cupboards.
He found mushrooms and spinach in the crisper from his last run to the market. By the time Randy came into the kitchen, Tristan had switched out from omelets to a frittata for the three of them.
The frittata they’d missed when she’d been called into work that morning not so long ago. Although he would’ve sworn a lifetime had passed in between then and now.
Randy scratched his belly before climbing onto a stool at the hightop table in the kitchen. “How long was I out?”
“I don’t know, man. You guys on the elevator, then there was a bed and it’s a blur from there to now.” Tristan rolled his shoulders. It had been nice to get a few hours of sleep. He hated how out of sorts he’d been since the two of them had been gone.
“I hear you. I passed out on Harper’s couch. Add in a four-year-old who gets up at the ass crack of dawn and had also taken a nap…well, you get the picture.”
Tristan pulled the pan out of the oven. The scents of garlic and Parmesan cheese wafted up from the hissing skillet. “I worked the early shift today. I don’t know how people do it.”
“Definitely not my preference.” Randy groaned as he slid off the chair. “That smells awesome.”
Tristan shifted it out of the pan to the butcher block island. “Jules woke up with a hungry belly.”
“We may have worked up an appetite.”
One that never seemed to be sated. Tris snagged a wide cutting knife and cut the egg concoction into sixths just in time for Jules to saunter into the kitchen. Her wild hair had been tamed into a fat, wet braid and she’d stolen another one of his shirts.
She came straight for the food. Tristan held his hand up. “It hasn’t—”
“Come on, it doesn’t need to set anymore.”
“Who’s the chef?”
She pouted. “Hungry.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Go sit down.”
“Can you not do the whole dressage and stuffs? I just want to put it in my belly.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “It smells so good. I’m not even going to put ketchup on it.”
“Over my dead body,” Tristan growled.
“I said I wasn’t.” She propped her head on her hands. “Come on. I’m hungry.”
Tristan plated the food and added a small salad. When Jules gave a heavy sigh, he made sure to slowly dress the greens too. Randy’s lips twitched as she wiggled in the chair, her head dropped back. Tristan crossed to them and set a plate in front of Rand first.
“You suck,” she muttered.
Tristan started to set the plate in front of her, then took it away. “Payment first.”
One slim eyebrow shot up. “Oh, really?”
He grinned. “Really.”
She slid her fingers under the hem of Tristan’s T-shirt and into the elastic waist of his shorts. He swallowed hard. He’d meant a kiss, but this worked too. She bypassed his rapidly hardening cock and cupped his balls.
