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I found a drawer filled with exquisitely ironed and folded T-shirts, and picked one out. It was wine-red, and very soft. I tossed it on, and the neck slid off my shoulder, and the hem hung down below my butt, but it was perfectly fine for midnight pancakes.
My mouth watered, but who knew if it was hunger or lust? I’d never been so fascinated by a man. I wanted to know him, for real. Even more dangerous, I wanted to be known by him. But this guy could take me apart from the inside out.
It was a disaster waiting to happen. But I couldn’t walk away. Not without some more of this. He’d stimulated my appetite.
I wandered through the apartment, following the tantalizing scent of pancake batter browning in butter. I leaned in the kitchen entryway, enjoying the spectacle of a stunning, muscular guy, naked to the waist, wearing only loose athletic pants, standing at the stovetop griddle, spatula in hand.
“Aren’t you worried about getting burned?” I asked.
He smiled over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t fry bacon like this,” he admitted. “But pancakes don’t scare me.” He waved me over to a stool at the bar that was an extension of the kitchen island, and piled four fluffy, golden pancakes with perfect, crispy borders onto a plate, sliding it toward me. “There you have butter, syrup, whipped cream, jam, and Nutella, and sliced strawberries, too,” he said. “Dig in.”
I pulled the plate to myself, inhaling the aroma. “I’m a real basic bitch when it comes to pancakes,” I confessed. “I’m a butter and real maple syrup kind of girl.”
He gave me an approving look. “A woman after my own heart.”
I smeared a little butter on top, and drenched them with maple syrup. The first dripping, fluffy, steaming bite made me practically moan with pleasure.
“Oh Lord, have mercy,” I mumbled. “These are insane.”
And they were. High, tender, fluffy, with a delicate golden crust, and that tender buttermilk zingieness. It was an oral orgasm.
“You like?”
“Oh, my God,” I muttered, around a mouthful of food. “So good.”
“I had harsh critics, and frequent practice,” he said, dropping another knob of butter to sizzle on the grill. He expertly ladled another batch onto the griddle.
“Your little sister?” I asked.
He nodded. “She was a pancake freak. Very fussy eater. We had them a lot.”
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
His eyes lit up. “Can I have one question for every answer that I give?”
“No,” I said flatly. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
He let out a sharp sigh. “Okay, fine. No bargains. Ask whatever you want.”
“You said you and your brother broke out of juvie and rescued your sister from the basement,” I said. “So, what then? Since you didn’t hurt the evil uncle and aunt, what did you do? Where did you keep your sister? How did you feed her?”
Ethan flipped his pancakes, and stared at them as they sizzled on the grill.
“I got lucky,” he said. “I met a guy in juvie. He put me in touch with this guy in Portland. Renzo was his name. He was a hacker, and he needed crackerjack hackers for his crew. I was good, and Shane wasn’t half bad, either. So when we got Freya away from my aunt and uncle, the three of us shoplifted and grifted our way to Portland. We worked for Renzo for a couple of years, until we found our feet.”
“No school for you, then?”
“Nah. I made Shane go, and Freya. I figured I’d be the only freak. Then Renzo got busted, and that was the end of that. I got myself a GED and once Shane was big enough to look after Frey for me, I joined the Army.”
“So, you hacked for criminals by night, and made pancakes and helped little sis with her homework by day,” I said.
“More or less, but she didn’t need much help.” He flipped the cakes onto a plate. “She’s the genius of the family.”
I shook my head. “The bar must be high for you Masters types.”
He grinned at me. “You want more pancakes?”
“Oh, no, this is fine. I’m stuffed.”
