He gets up and pours himself a second cup of coffee just as I slide everything out of the oven. That’s when I hear feet coming down the stairs.
The door to the kitchen swings open and there stands Kennedy. Well, the Kennedy I’m used to seeing. Immaculately dressed, perfect hair, and a full face of makeup. She’s holding her phone in one hand and her laptop in the other. This Kennedy is full-blown work bitch mode Kennedy.
“Coffee. I’m dying and I need coffee.” The only place I even see a remnant of her over-indulging last night is in her eyes.
“Oh God, I think my balls shriveled up and died.”
Kennedy’s eye swing toward the stool where Deacon has perched himself.
“That would have required you to have balls in the first place, jackass,” she quips right back to Deacon. Her words hold no bite to them at all, and she places her phone and laptop on the counter and flings herself into his waiting arms. “Deacon!”
“Hey Kenn.” He holds her close. “It’s great to see you.” She takes a step back, while still holding on to Deacon.
“I wish I could say the same, but you look like shit.” Never one to pull punches, Kennedy tells him like it is. He lets out a huge laugh that slightly sloshes his coffee over the rim of his cup.
“Well, Els doesn’t feed me, Kenn. How else am I supposed to grow big and strong?”
This makes me shoot him the side-eye. At six foot four and two hundred twenty-five pounds, he is the epitome of big and strong. Not to mention the muscles he’s developed from lugging all the wood for his boats. Kennedy removes herself from his grasp and makes her way toward the coffee machine.
“Well, that’s a damn shame, Deac. You look as if you are wasting away. Maybe you should find some cute little lady to play housewife and cook your meals.” This is an ongoing joke between the two of them. I’ve long suspected that they have had some kind of sexual tension going on, but Deacon is looking for a housewife and Kennedy is anything but. “Speaking of wasting away, I need food in my belly.”
My hand grasps the knife, all set and ready to cut the quiche. I point it at her. “I’ve got quiche and muffins.” She hops up on the stool next to Deacon and squeals out loud.
“I’ll have BOTH.”
I go about cutting her a large piece of quiche and plating it up. I repeat the pattern for Deacon since I can see the way his eyes are following my every move.
“Don’t worry. I’ll feed you too.” I slide the plate across the counter to Deacon.
“What about me? Will you feed me, too?” Ryan’s voice comes from the doorway.
Chapter Four
Ryan
The scene in the kitchen is like a fucking American painting. You know the one. The one where all the perfect little people are hanging around a table eating perfect little food.
Just as I hear Elodie say she will feed the big man at the table, I know I need to pipe in too. But as the words flow out of my mouth with a suggestive tone, I see that the other woman at the table is Kennedy.
She’s going to cut my dick off.
As if The Exorcist was being re-filmed in this quaint country kitchen, Kennedy’s head swivels around to face me.
“Don’t you start with me this morning.” She waves her finger at me. I’m tempted to get closer and just bite that finger. I’m sick and tired of her wagging it at me.
“Look, I just want a coffee and some breakfast.” I hold my hands up like I’m in some kind of hostage situation. Which, honestly, I kind of am.
Elodie looks at me with a kind smile. “I have quiche and muffins. What would you like?”
“Four egg whites with cheddar cheese, onions, peppers, and mushrooms. I’ll also have a side of whatever fresh fruit you have and a large slab of bacon or ham.” I reach down and slowly pull up my shirt to show off my abs. “You don’t keep these by eating carbs.”
The big man on the stool is looking at me like he wants to snap my body in half. I’d like to see him try. My gaze sweeps over to Kennedy and she’s holding her fork in a way that makes me slightly uncomfortable. I expect she’s going to lay into me, but it’s Elodie who speaks first.
“Well, the quiche Lorraine has bacon and spinach in it, which is excellent for muscles. Since this isn’t a restaurant, you can take that or starve.” It’s not the bright, cheery tone that Elodie speaks in that frightens me the most. It’s the smile on her face. It’s almost as if she would pleasure in taking the knife in her hand and carving me one to match.
“Right, then. I’ll have some quiche.” I quickly backpedal. “Thank you.” I throw in for good measure. This is a tough crowd this morning. “Coffee?”
Elodie again smiles and points behind me to the counter. “Cups are in the cabinet above. Sugar is next to the machine and there is cream in the small silver cup next to that.”
I busy myself making a cup of coffee and allow the conversations to fill in behind me.
“How long are you here for?” Big meaty dude is talking to Kennedy.
“I’ve got to head back to London today.” Her voice is dripping with disdain. “I’ve got a large ass mess to clean up.”
Just as I spin around, cup of coffee in hand, Kennedy is yet again pointing at me. This time with her fork. I slide my body in the empty stool next to her and pray to the football gods that she doesn’t take an eye out with her utensil.
“Thank you, Kennedy, for all that you do. I would be lost without you.” For good measure, I take the risk and place my head on her shoulder and give her a little squeeze. I’m truly being honest. For all my bravado and cockiness, I would be lost without Kennedy. She’s never steered me wrong in all the years we’ve been working together. She’s remained a calm, guiding force even when everything has gone to shite.
“The tabloids think you should get lost. Period,” no-neck man says from beside Kennedy. I pick my head up to look at him and give him the most charming smile I can muster.
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Ryan Evans.” I’d hold out my hand for a shake, but that would be hella awkward with Kennedy in between us.
“Deacon Stewart. I’m Elodie’s brother, and here every single day.” The last sentence is punctuated and I see it for exactly what it is—a thinly veiled threat. At that moment, Elodie slides a plate of quiche across the counter to me. I have to admit, it makes my mouth water. The diet that the club has us on doesn’t include much in the way of treats and this definitely is a treat. I stab my fork into the lush crust and bring the bite to my lips. Even the smell makes me want to drool. I close my eyes and take a moment to pray to the god of all things pastry.
“I’m leaving shortly.” A fork gets pressed into my side. My eyes open and I see the culprit is Kennedy.
“I’ll pack my bags.” I know I’m not going anywhere, but what would a conversation with Kennedy be if I didn’t rile her up a little.
“Nope. You aren’t going anywhere. Do I need to give you the lecture again?” Why does Kennedy always wave her hands in the air when she’s mad at me?
“Nah, I’m good. Stay put. Don’t leave until you come back for me.” I stab my fork into the quiche again. She can keep talking as long as this food is in my mouth. I give zero fucks about anything but the buttery crust. And she does keep talking, and I’m really not a hundred percent sure of what she says because again—food. “Got it, Kenn.”