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“All this for a biker spat in a parking lot?” Hawk asked. “We should find them and break their legs.”
Chris shook his head. “Don’t think this is for the prospect or Prior. I mean, granted, it’d keep them out. But I’m pretty sure this set up is directly related to the other asshole.”
“We should find him, too,” Hawk grumbled and pulled the top off the drywall compound.
“With you there,” Tex agreed.
When they were finished, they hauled the tools back out into the living room.
“Alright what do I smell?” Hawk finally asked.
Hayley gave him a wan smile. “I made pancakes. I don’t normally get to make them for myself. Because it’s not that easy to make batter for just three pancakes.”
Hawk grunted. “You can only eat three? Amateur. Load me up, woman.”
“Buttermilk?” asked Tex.
“Of course,” Slick replied. “With bananas and blueberries.”
Tex clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “So worth getting up early,” he declared and watched greedily as Hayley piled a stack of cakes onto a plate and handed it to Hawk.
Chris waited his turn, lounging against the counter, and then took a third plate from Hayley. “Thanks, Slick,” he told her, grinning. “Get yourself some and come eat with us,” he told her. Hayley took the fourth chair between Tex and Chris and gingerly cut into her stack.
Hawk paused in his gluttony only to say, “Can you break some more shit next week so we can do this again?”
Hayley blushed, but grinned down at her plate.
Chapter 8
Hayley wasn’t exactly asleep due to her chronic insomnia, but neither was she willing to get out of bed at the ass crack of dawn, however this choice was taken away from her by the ungodly sound of a motor running precariously close to her bedroom window. She sat up, stretched, and looked out, seeing nothing. She hit the floor in her sleep shorts and tank top and wandered dazedly into the kitchen and looked out that window to see Chris mowing the lawn. Scratch that. Mowing her lawn.
He seemed engrossed in the activity, pushing and pulling the mower in a clearly defined pattern that reminded her of a tiny football field.
And not that she would normally notice this kind of thing, but…wow. He’d only ever worn jeans in front of her and seeing his calves alone was a holy experience. The shirt fit about as tight as all his other shirts, not that she looked. Much. But the sum total of Chris Sullivan in shorts and a t-shirt participating in an activity that made him sweat, no glisten, was enough to nearly render her comatose. She really had to stop getting those romance novels at the grocery store. And then, as if sensing the wayward thoughts that she was in denial about having, he looked up.
Damn. Busted. She smiled a huge goofy smile and waved. He waved back and she ducked back out of the window as quickly as she thought was appropriate without seeming ridiculous. He’d caught her looking at him. But then again, it was 6:30 in the morning and he was mowing the freaking lawn. Maybe he hadn’t had a neighbor in so long he’d forgotten that normal, non Greek God, military-type people slept late and had coffee before doing anything that required that much energy.
She peeked and he’d gone back to mowing her lawn. Which now made her feel guilty. She could mow the lawn. If she had a mower. Which she did not. And she really didn’t want to buy one. Her last apartment had been situated over a Chinese noodle shop in downtown Denver and had no lawn and the added bonus of smelling like soup all the time.
Even at 6:30 in the morning, mowing was hot, hard work. That much was obvious and she felt guilty.
***************************
Chris had one more pass to go when out of the corner of his eye he saw Hayley come out the back door and down the steps of the small deck. She had on flip flops, jean shorts, a t shirt, and had a glass in her hand. On closer inspection it looked like iced tea. Intrigued, and parched, he killed the motor as Hayley got closer.
“I can do this,” she told him.
He grinned at her. “I’m almost done, Slick,” he said sarcastically.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I meant next time.”
“Uh uh,” he said, shaking his head. “See, Slick. This here’s what they call Man’s work.”
“Oh, really?” she asked in a challenging tone.
“That’s a fact.”
“And the legion of women, for there are many, who mow their own lawns every day?”
“Don’t have a man to do it for them,” he informed her. “Women’s work… is making tea,” he added, swiping the glass from her.
“How do you know that’s for you?” she asked.
“Don’t care, didn’t ask,” he replied, grinning and took a swig. And nearly choked. “Holy hell, Slick. What is this?”
