With him dressed in only a pair of gray sweatpants, I was glad I had taken the food off the stove, or it would have burned because I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His chest and stomach were all muscle with the lightest dusting of hair—a space that I wanted to cover with kisses. Even though I had touched him last night and up until I got out of his bed, seeing him in the light gave me a whole new appreciation.
Ashe wasn’t just nurturing and kind.
He was handsome.
And sexy as hell.
He took the plates out of my hands and brought them to the table, returning to give me his mouth. A subtle whiff of his leftover cologne made my chest tingle, and the taste of his toothpaste numbed my tongue.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
Now that my fingers were free, they went to his stomach, his abs tightening as I ran across them. “Mmm, morning.”
“I hated that you were gone when I woke up, but seeing how hot you look in my clothes”—his eyes dipped to my chest and then to my legs—“you’re forgiven.”
“I hope you don’t mind; they were just easy to slip on—”
“I wouldn’t want you in anything else.”
I smiled, my teeth immediately going to my lip as a moment passed between us that told me if Dylan wasn’t sitting at the table, I would probably be spread across it.
Naked.
“Go take a seat before all the food gets cold,” I said.
“I have a better plan.”
I giggled and steered him toward his chair.
When the three of us were seated, the boys exchanged a few words about Dylan’s night, sounding like he had spent it with mutual friends.
Within a few bites, Dylan had stopped talking and was staring at me, gnawing on his bacon. “Pearl, this is fucking awesome.”
“It’s excellent,” Ashe agreed, reaching for my thigh under the table. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“But we’re glad you did,” Dylan replied.
We all laughed, and I lifted my black coffee, holding it to my lips.
“I’m happy you like it.” I set down the mug and picked up my fork to dig into the cake. “But admittedly, I’m most excited about the dessert.”
“Cake for breakfast,” Dylan said with eggs in his mouth. “I like this trend.”
“Wait until you try it,” I told him. The rich peanut butter exploded on my tongue, my mouth watering from the richness. “It’s the best thing ever.”
“Well, shit, I’m sold,” Dylan said, dropping his bacon to dig into the cake. “Damn, you weren’t kidding.” He moaned as he took another bite.
My eyes flitted between the two men, and I laughed to myself as I watched them.
This was certainly much different than sitting at the coffee table with Gran, where we shared all of our meals. She was the only person I’d eaten with in a very long time. But these guys made me feel so comfortable, and I hadn’t realized how much I would enjoy staying here.
“But these eggs,” Ashe said, shoving in another mouthful, “they’re so tasty and light.”
“They’re not peanut butter cake,” I replied.
“They’re better.” He winked at me, his fingers leaving my leg to search for my hand. When he found it, he linked us, his thumb rubbing the back of my palm.
Dylan devoured both plates and set his fork down. “My hungover ass is going to bed.” He set his dishes in the sink and came back to the table, stretching his arms above his head, yawning. “I’ll figure out when everyone is free to study, and I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good.”
“Thanks again for breakfast,” he said and disappeared down the hall.
Ashe was just finishing his last bite of cake when I asked, “Who gets the shower first?”
We had class at the same time, in about an hour, so I knew we had to get going, or we’d be late.
He licked the frosting off his fork and took all of our plates to the sink. When he returned to my side, he held out his hand for me to grab, staring at me through his thick lashes. “No reason to choose.” He grinned, and a wetness started to pool between my legs. “Not when both of us can fit in there.”
Twenty-Five
After
Ashe
I walked over to my desk with a large cup of coffee, removing the plastic lid the moment I sat down. The steam of the roast hit my face, and I took a long drink of the sweetened mixture. The coffee in our break room tasted like sludge. I’d spent eleven years in this department, and not a goddamn person here, including myself, could make a decent cup.
My desk was covered in paperwork and files, not a spot open to set down the cup. I didn’t know how it’d accumulated so much since I’d left last night, but it seemed that every time I returned, there was always more.
More cases.
More forms to complete.
More witnesses to interview.
More bullshit to tackle, so the captain wouldn’t be all over my ass.
A cycle with no finish line, making it impossible to ever get caught up.
I was taking more folders out of my bag when I heard, “Flynn,” from behind me.
I turned, seeing Rivera walking into the department—a detective I’d worked with since I’d started.
“What the hell dragged you in this early?”
He chuckled as he sat in the desk next to mine. “My wife kicked me out of bed. Said I was snoring. The couch is lumpy as a motherfucker, so I figured I’d come in and get some work done.” He stretched out his feet, balancing them on the edge of his trash can. “Got a busy day today?”
I pointed at the mess. “You tell me.”
He laughed, knowing I wouldn’t get through much of it. Part of our job description was being chronically overdue in almost everything behind the scenes. As long as the files had enough for the district attorney and the sergeant who reviewed them, many of the little things could fall through the cracks.
“How about you meet me for lunch?” he said, taking a drink of his coffee. “It’s been a few weeks; we need to catch up.”
“I’m there as long as I don’t get called into a case.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve got to interview a woman out in Dorchester at around ten. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. I’ll text you when I’m done, and we can meet up.”
“Anything good?”
He lifted a file into his hands, skimming the first few sheets inside. “Missing daughter. I talked to the mother at the forty-eight-hour mark, but we’re approaching ninety-six hours, and not a goddamn thing has turned up. I need to go talk to the mother again and make sure she doesn’t know anything.” He shook his head. “These cases … you know how I feel about them.”
He showed me a photo of the girl, and I asked, “No other leads?”
“The twenty-year-old left her cell phone at home, no boyfriend, and the best friend hasn’t heard from her. Mom is distraught with four other kids at home, and there’s no dad in sight.” His eyes were heavy, almost weighted down. “Another fucking picture to add to the others.” He nodded toward the wall at the entrance of the department, where we hung printouts of anyone who had gone missing in the borough.