"You're just going to have to get used to it," I told him, chin angling up a bit. "You and your biker friends."
"Brothers," McCoy corrected.
"Brothers. You will all have to get used to me thanking you. You helped me get my sister back. There aren't enough words in the English language for me to express my gratitude for that. So, I guess I can do so with food," I said, giving him a small smile. "My real skill set is nail art, but I can't imagine many of you want a full set of acrylics with fun, seasonal artwork on them, so food it is."
"We'd never turn down a meal," he told me, the muscles around his mouth twitching. Just a little.
It was a new goal in life for me to get a real smile out of the man.
It was the least I could do for him.
"I know you said you are going to stay, but if you need to go, I understand."
"I have nowhere to be," he said, shrugging, following me across the hall toward the bathroom. "Besides, I got my heart set on some lasagne now," he declared, eyes dancing a bit as I grabbed Max, and turned back to face him.
"Typical guy," I told him, clucking my tongue. "If you're not thinking with your... you-know, you're thinking with your stomach."
"My you-know," he repeated, leaning down a bit to give me a hint of a smirk.
There was something in his eyes right then that made my chest and belly flutter, that made my breathing go quick and shallow.
It was a long-buried sensation, one that I hadn't felt drudged up in so long that it took me a long second to place it.
Attraction.
And not just the kind based on looks.
I mean, yes, of course, McCoy was almost off-puttingly good-looking. But it was more than just appreciating his outward appearance.
The butterflies, the quick pulse, the uneven breathing, that was deeper than just liking the way someone looked. It was base, primal, something that couldn't be explained, like something inside you responded to something within them, some innate part of you that knew it would be good. If you know what I mean.
And, well, I hadn't "you know what I mean'd" in a really long while. I'd been too focused on my work at Lily's and then trying to build up a private client base in the hopes of being able to one day, some day, open my own salon. Belle and me.
ShyBelle.
"You good, babe?" McCoy asked, sounding close. When my head snapped back up, I realized he was. Close. Way, way too close. Close enough that I could smell the traces of soap still clinging to his skin, spicy and masculine. Which was not helping the whole attraction thing either.
"What? Oh, I, ah, yeah."
"You're the one who brought it up," he said.
"Brought what up?" I asked, feeling lost.
"My you-know," he clarified, making that fluttering thing start again.
"No! Well, yes, but also no."
"Yes, but also no?" he repeated.
"Well, I meant, you know, the collective you-know, not you specifically. Obviously, I don't know you well enough to know anything about how you think or what you think with. And I mean, like, maybe you're not even into women. Or into anyone. Plenty of people aren't into anyone. I mean, like, what I'm saying is—"
"That I flustered you," he finished for me, eyes bright again, like he found it amusing even if his lips still stubbornly refused to curve upward.
"Well, ah, yeah," I admitted since there was no use denying it.
At that, he nodded and moved back a step.
"Come on, let's check on your sister," he said, keeping a wide berth around me for the next hour or so while Belle snuggled and pet Max, starting to look a little more human as time passed.
She sipped her special drink and had a couple more bites of the protein bar before declaring it was "inedible" which led to McCoy ordering in Italian, and all of us eating in relative silence.
"Tired?" I asked when Belle caught herself nodding off for the third time.
"Yeah," she admitted, looking over at me with hooded eyes.
"Come on. I'll bring you to bed," I invited.
"That's your bed."
"Tonight, it is your bed," I told her, handing Max to McCoy as I helped my sister up, and lead her down the hall to my room, getting her into my bed. She was out cold before I even got her tucked in all the way.
Getting a quiet moment to myself, I closed my eyes tight, giving silent gratitude to whatever higher power might exist that I got her back and that she was—relatively—okay, before making my way back out into the hall where McCoy was walking away from putting Max back into the bathroom.
"You too tired, or can you spare a few to talk?" he asked, waving toward the couch.
"I'm exhausted, but wired, if that makes any sense at all," I said, moving to the far end of the couch, turning on it to face McCoy as he got into the spot Belle had abandoned.
"It does," McCoy agreed as I pulled my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "It's the adrenaline. Once it wears off, you are going to pass out so hard."
"I'm kind of looking forward to it," I admitted. "I haven't slept well since all this started. What did we need to talk about?" I asked.
"All this," he said, giving me a regretful look. "Sorry, I know it feels over..."
"But it's not," I finished for him.
"I'm afraid not. This all obviously didn't go to plan."
"Yeah," I agreed, mind finally clearing a little of my concern for Belle as she slept peacefully in my bedroom, allowing me to see the situation from the Henchmen's perspective.
I was supposed to be summoned to pick up Belle. Which would have allowed them to follow, to exact their revenge on the people who wanted them dead.
But with the drop off of Belle outside my work, all of that went away.
"I know you were probably overwhelmed, but did you manage to notice anything about the car?"
"I never would have before," I admitted. "But after listening to all you guys talk, my first instinct was actually to look at the car as it peeled off. It was a black Explorer. And there was a Q in the license plate. But that's... that's all there was. There was nothing distinct about it. And they were around the bend before I could read any other numbers or letters."
"Hey, babe, no, that's good. It's something. We would have nothing if you didn't have your wits about you right then. Besides, you'd be surprised what Arty might be able to do with just that. What?" he asked, making me aware that my confused feeling must have been plastered all over my face.
"It's just... I went from being a very, very, painfully average person one day to wrapped up with bikers and kidnappers and hackers and... what does your other friend do again?"
"Booker?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Private security."
"Right. Private security. Which, up until a couple days ago, I thought was only something for the uber-rich."
"You left out street racers. And ex male strippers."
"What?" I asked, eyes widening.
"Not me, babe," he said, letting out a chuckle, but even then, not offering up a smile. What the heck he was hoarding them all for was beyond me.