I pull on a red tank top and some gray sweats, grabbing a hair ribbon off the dresser before stepping out.
“It smells great. What are you cooking?” His back is turned to me, and I can’t help but take in his tattoos. There are names in cursive, and a dark angel between them. He turns and frowns, his eyes sweeping up and down my frame. My heart sinks, and I look down at myself.
“I feel underdressed,” he states.
I laugh. “That’s because you’re naked.”
“I think you need to take something off to make it even,” he suggests with a sly smirk.
Stepping up to me, his hands pull my pants to my ankles then fist my shirt before tearing it Incredible Hulk style.
My mouth pops open in shock. I might need new panties now.
“That’s better. I like the lace.” He thumbs the lace on the round of my breast, my nipple jumping to attention.
I step out of my pants and take the remaining pieces of my shirt off.
“Why don’t you have that brace thing on?” He narrows his eyes at my foot.
I shrug. “I don’t need it. I’ll heal faster without it.”
“You should wear it. The doctor gave it to you for a reason,” he schools me.
“Just for precaution. I’m fine.”
He shakes his head, squinting at me from over his shoulder. He’s cocky, even bossy at times, but the fact he cares is charming in a way.
Sitting down at the table, he sets a plate in front of me. Eggs with cheese and tomatoes sit on one side, bacon and toast on the other.
“Thank you,” I say nervously. I’ve never had a man make me breakfast before, including my father.
“You’re welcome.”
I take a bite of bacon, and he smirks.
“What?”
“You eating bacon. That doesn’t make you a cannibal, does it?”
It takes a second before I realize his jab.
“Ha ha, very funny.” I shove the whole thing in my mouth and roll my eyes. He laughs, pleased with himself.
“You know, I may give you shit about being a pig, but bikers used to be called pigs.”
“Really?” Crumbs sputter from my lips, and my cheeks flush.
He chuckles, setting a glass of orange juice down.
“Yeah, my dad told me all kinds of stories. Back before clubs were a dime a dozen, people had their own ideas of those who wore leather and rode Harleys. They were scum, of lower income. All of them were outlaws and rapists. My father said his grandfather had a blowout on the side of the highway one day, and nobody stopped to see if he was okay.”
“Oh, wow.”
“True story. One of his buddies got his bike rolled down the hills in San Fran one night after leaving a bar.”
Sitting down across from me, he takes a big gulp from my glass, his eyes never leaving mine.
“The Sin City Outlaws, it’s been in your family forever?”
He shrugs, digging into his food. “Yeah. My father and uncle migrated from Italy after the war, worked their way up. My uncle started the casino, and my father… well, he took a different route.”
“The club,” I state.
“Exactly. But I don’t have to tell you that both are just as vindictive.”
“No, you don’t. The files on the club and the casino suggest a lot of things. They have a lot of suspected crimes, but… there’s never any solid evidence to prove it.”
He raises his brows, his jaw flexing as he chews.
“Yeah, guess we’re doing something right then.”
I frown, not agreeing to that. I guess that’s where we’ll disagree on things. Shaking my head, I take a bite of my eggs.
“Wow, these are really good!”
He smirks, proud of himself.
“I was worried they wouldn’t turn out. I wasn’t one to be in the kitchen growing up. That was Lip. I wasn’t sure if I remembered how to make them.”
“I’m guessing you don’t cook often?”
He chuckles. “No, my Aunt Carola cooks, or I get take-out. Seems easier, no mess.”
He doesn’t cook, but he cooked for me. I probably shouldn’t read into it too much, though.
A ridiculous smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
“What?” Darting my eyes from my plate, Zeek is looking at me puzzled.
I shrug, my cheeks warming. “It’s just that you cooked for me.”
He pauses. Looking at his food, his eyes slowly sweep upward to mine.
“Yeah, I guess I did.” His words come out like he didn’t even think about it.
“Your brother Lip, he just got out of prison?” I change the subject, but by the look on his face it was the wrong one. I grit my teeth. Me and my big mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. Yeah, he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’m such an idiot. Zeek and Lip are related, but that’s about as far as their records go. I wonder if something went wrong between them.
We finish breakfast, both of us stealing quick glances at one another here and there. I wash my plate, and he washes his… still naked.
Turning where I stand, I rest my hands on the counter behind me. “So, do you have to go do club stuff?”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the ground. His reaction makes me think he’s leaving, that he does, in fact, have club things to do.
“No, I’m staying here.”
I can’t stop the look of surprise on my face.
“What?”