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“God forbid you don’t go out searching for STDs.” I drop a dollop of milk in my filling mug before turning back and returning the carton to the fridge. “Put some thought into your life since we last talked?”
He lowers his head and sniggers. “I’m going to UOC in the fall. I met with the Condors coach yesterday, and figure I have a spot on the team just as soon as I show I’m worth it.” Bringing his gaze up again, he meets mine and stares. “Good enough plan for you?”
“Well…” When my coffee is done pouring, I pick up the mug and turn to lean against the counter, warming my hands and inhaling the scent of caffeine before the sun has even fully come up. “College sounds great and all, and an in with a pro team owner is better than lots of others get. But what are your educational goals?”
His nose wrinkles. “Educational goals?”
“Yes. What do you intend to study when you get to the university? You had to have applied forsomethingto gain acceptance. So…” I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “What was it?”
He scowls, like my inquiries are offensive. “I just wrote ‘business’.”
“Business?” I parrot enthusiastically.Progress!“Okay. Good. What kind?”
“I dunno. I guess I’ll do ECON101 for half a semester, get onto the team, wow them with my fuckin awesomeness, and the rest will take care of itself.”
I choke out a laugh, and glance across the room when Archer shuffles in.
His hair is messy, too, though not nearly as long as his kid brother’s. He wears black boxers and a pair of jeans that are not yet buttoned or zipped up. And unlike Cato, no shirt at all, so I see the way his chest ripples as he moves. His old bullet wound, from when I had to dig around inside of him and extract the slug while on a dirty warehouse floor, glistens in the muted lighting coming from the streetlights outside.
He’s an older, larger, broader Cato Malone. But even if we added fifteen years to Cato’s eighteen, and stood them side by side, Archer would still be the one for me. He’s my rockhopper penguin. And as he walks straight to me, I’m almost eye-level with his wedding band, hanging from the chain circling his neck.
I finally release a heavy breath when he wordlessly buries his lips against my neck and crushes me against the counter. He hugs me, even half-asleep, and finds comfort in my touch.
He’s probably the cause of ninety percent of my mysterious bruises these days. But I wouldn’t change that for the world. I wouldn’t change a single thing about him. So I set my coffee on the counter and wrap my arms over his shoulders to keep him close.
“You sleep okay?” he mumbles, his voice muffled against my neck. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I slide my nails through his hair and sync my breathing to his.
With the early morning light, and the warmth radiating from his body, this is the most comfort I’ll find until I’m back in bed tonight.
From here on out, I’ll be working, walking, running, keeping up with a workload that far exceeds my capabilities. I’ll be dealing with people outside this room, and hoping to solve the murder of a good woman who sleeps in a fridge until this investigation is over.
Once Archer wakes up fully and steps back from this hug, that’ll be the end ofeasyfor us both for the rest of today. So I bathe in it instead of rushing him. Despite his brother watching us, I revel in his hands hugging my hips, and his masculine, woodsy scent filling my lungs. His hair, tickling my shoulder, and his heart matching pace with mine.
“You seem extra sleepy today,” I murmur. “You okay?”
“Missed you.” He tightens his grip, and grunts in the back of his throat until he forces a similar sound from mine. “Why don’t you stay in bed and wake up with me anymore?”
I laugh.Thisis the man I married. The one who lives on touch, and pouts when I take that away. I wake in bed beside him six days out of seven. But on that seventh, the one where he wakes alone, I know without hesitation he’ll feel sorry for himself.
“I needed to pee.” Pulling back, I look up into dark green eyes, shadowed by fatigue. “You want some coffee?”
“Mm…” His lips curl into a small smile, innocent on the surface. But the closer he comes to complete consciousness, the tighter his grip grows on my ass. He’ll bruise me, I know it. But I don’t tell him to stop. “I’ll make you a coffee, Mayet.”
I glance to my left at the mug still steaming with fresh caffeine. Then I bring my gaze back to Archer. “I already have one.”
“But I want that one. Because it’s yours.” He smacks a kiss to the center of my lips, then releases my ass to reach up for a fresh mug. “I’ll make you another.”
“You two are fucking gross.” Cato drops off the edge of the counter so his bare feet land on the floor with aslap.
I peer over Archer’s shoulder, and watch the boy turn away to escape us.
“Whatever happened to good old family values?” Whining, he stomps toward the couch and picks up the television remote. “Why can’t we go back to the days of men and women hating each other, and fucking only to make a baby?”
“Because we’re not Timothy Malone.” I slip out from between the counter and Archer’s broad chest, but I don’t go far. I rest my elbows in almost the exact spot Cato sat in a moment ago, and watch the boy flop onto the couch to watch TV. “Because we have this thing called free will nowadays. Women can work and earn their own income.”
“Lame.”
