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“Eddie? Is he a biker?” I asked.
“No. He’s just a friend of the club. He cooks. And I mean cooks. From scratch everything. Even the bread when he makes it. You don’t need to give me shit about the nitrates in the bacon. Or the sugar in the syrup. Or whatever the fuck random body parts makes up sausage. I heard it from Alaric. He’s… got food issues.”
“Food issues like sensitivities?” I asked, finding that I liked being able to have a casual conversation with him that didn’t involve swapping snippy comments.
Alright, that wasn’t exactly fair.
Seeley was always civil.
It was me who was always being snippy.
“No, like I think he’s anorexic or whatever the one is where you obsess about food and exercise.”
“Orthorexic,” I supplied. “It’s a lot more common in men than people realize. It gets kind of lost in the gym culture and people assume it is healthy, when it is actually a problem. I hope there is someone around who can encourage him to get help. Sorry,” I said, wincing when he let out a savage curse as I cleaned and redressed his wounds.
“We’re all… keeping an eye. Kind of hard to force a grown man to do what you know is good for him when he doesn’t want it,” he said.
“I know all about that,” I said as I reached in his chart to find something I’d stashed there earlier, unpackaging it, then slapping it onto his upper arm.
“What is that?” he asked, brows scrunching as he looked down at it.
“A nicotine patch,” I said, feeling my lips curve up at the smile he shot me.
“Always looking out for me, huh?” he asked, and that smile just… went a little more, I don’t know, heated.
“If you won’t look out for yourself, someone has to do it,” I said as I wheeled my stool away from him, knowing I needed a little distance between the way my body was reacting to that look he was giving me.
“I have the scripts for your antibiotics and pain meds as well as the dressings and creams for the wounds,” I said with my back to him as I washed my hands.
Turning, I found him back in his shirt, and there was no rational explanation for the disappointment I felt in response to that.
“Alright, here’s all the scripts,” I started to say, gathering them out of my chart, where I had them stashed in anticipation of him coming back.
I had them in my hand, and was raising my arm to him.
When, suddenly, both sides of my face were being grabbed by his big, strong hands, and his dark gaze held mine, full of heat, of need that had my belly doing flip-flops.
Then, before my brain could even catch up to what was going on, his face was lowering, and his lips were sealing over mine.
It was careful at first, gauging my reaction, waiting to see if I stiffened, or pulled away.
I should have.
I knew I needed to.
But all I seemed capable of at that moment was melting.
Melting into the kiss.
Melting into him.
A low, mewling sound escaped me as his lips slanted over mine again, soft, full of promise.
That sound, though, seemed to snap what control Seeley had at that moment.
Suddenly, his lips were hard and demanding, making heat bloom through my system as my free hand rose, grabbing the side of my neck as he slammed me back against the door as his tongue moved inside to claim mine.
The need that coursed through me right then was something the likes of I’d never experienced before.
