endless supply of bacon the housekeeper keeps on hand just for you?”
“You’re tossing around jokes while your girl's on the lip of a boiling fucking pot?” Tank lets out an incredulous huff. “Knew you didn't deserve her.”
In two steps, I'm in his personal space, our faces inches apart. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Unless you want me to whip mine out to fucking compare, get that limp-ass dick away from me.” He steps back with a snarl. “Go get some fucking pants on, Playboy. Shit happened last night while you were playing the perfect politician.”
“What—”
“Clothes,” he thunders. “I don't want to see that shit.” A smirk pulls at his lips. “Makes me feel bad for Randi knowing that's what she’s settling for.”
Middle finger in the air, I spin and stride to the bedroom. The dresser shakes at the force of me opening one drawer after another in search of a clean pair of workout shorts. Not wanting to waste a second, I tug the Dryfit shorts on as I walk back into the living room, pausing at the edge of the kitchen. Tank's head is buried in the fridge, searching for the bacon, no doubt.
“Bottom drawer.”
The clatter of the plastic drawers opening and closing fills the kitchen. Knowing this conversation won't start until the bacon is cooking, I search under a cabinet and snag the first frying pan my fingers touch. I toss it onto the stove, the banging metal making me instantly regret that choice.
“Start talking. What the hell could she have gotten herself into in the past twelve hours?” Stretching above the microwave, I snag a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet and pop four of the small white pills into my mouth. Dipping my head beneath the kitchen faucet, I suck several mouthfuls of cold tap water down, soothing my dry mouth and throat while swallowing the much-needed medicine.
“You know as well as I do that girl attracts the trouble,” he says, cutting his dark eyes to me. “Present company included.”
“Ha ha,” I mock. Instead of watching him destroy the sealed bacon package with his bare hands, sending the uncooked meat flying around the kitchen, I lean over the counter, pull open a drawer, and feel around for a spare buck knife. “Here,” I mumble, getting his attention before tossing it to him. “You've got jokes for someone who's eating forbidden food in front of the man who has your wife's number on speed dial.”
Tank’s shoulders stiffen. I can't hold back a chuckle at his clear fear of his wife. Not that I blame him. That woman is a badass. Anyone smart would be more than a little terrified of her.
“You wouldn't,” he says, voice tight.
“Then talk, big guy, and my lips are sealed.”
When he shoots me a glare over the sizzling pan, I motion like I'm zipping my lips, then toss the imaginary key over my shoulder for emphasis.
He just shakes his head before turning his full attention to the cooking bacon. “I have no idea what that woman sees in you.”
I waggle both brows and point to my crotch. “You did earlier.”
“Poor girl.”
“Fuck off. Stop stalling. Tell me what's going on.” I massage my temples, thinking good thoughts that the medicine will kick in soon. The savory aroma of the cooking bacon churns my already sour stomach while also smelling fucking delicious. “I want to puke and eat at the same time. I'm getting too old for this shit.”
“Did you mix or something?”
“Yeah.”
“Amateur.”
“Don't I know it.” With a less-than-dignified groan, I press my forehead against the cold marble counter. “Are you ever going to fill me in on what happened last night?”
Just to be an ass, he waits a few more beats before saying, “Did you know the Department of Justice is snooping around?”
My neck almost pops with whiplash as I bolt straight up. “What?”
He nods while nudging the bacon around the popping grease with a spatula. “I don't know what they want. All I know is the associate attorney general blindsided us while leaving last night. And I don't think Randi has a clue as to what he wants to talk about, because she looked just as shocked as I did.”
His dark eyes flick to mine, a grimace pinching his features. I know that look. He’s holding something back.
“What are you not telling me?”
“Listen, I'm not gay or anything, but… Playboy, that man, the AAG, is one sexy-ass motherfucker.”
“What?” I shout, immediately regretting it. I slam my hands against both sides of my