“Get dressed, babe. We have company.”
“We do?” I asked as he stopped me by my suitcases.
“Yeah,” he answered.
Oh shit.
“Good company or bad company?” I asked, his hands went to my h*ps and he pulled my na**d body into his.
“Right now, Sweet Pea,” he growled, “any company is bad company.”
I had to admit, with his warm, solid, na**d body pressed to mine, I agreed.
Then there was a banging at the door and I jumped. Then I pulled from his hands and bent to my suitcases. Hawk prowled to his wardrobe.
I grabbed items and flew to the bathroom.
I’d used the facilities, brushed and flossed, washed my face, put on my underwear and was pulling my hair up in a high ponytail when the door to the bathroom opened without even a knock.
I jumped and whirled to see Hawk standing there wearing dark brown cargo pants and tight, olive drab thermal.
A thought popped into my head and, stupidly, it popped out of my mouth.
“How many pairs of cargo pants do you own?”
His eyes went from my underwear to me.
Then he announced without preparing me in any way, shape or form, “My family’s here. Surprise visit. They’ve heard about you. Jury’s got a big mouth.”
My breath rushed out of me with an audible, “oof”.
Then I whispered, “What?”
“Ma’s makin’ breakfast.”
His Ma? His Ma was making breakfast?
I felt my eyes get huge and I repeated, “What?”
“It’ll take her awhile so whenever you’re ready to come down.”
Again I asked, “What?”
But I did this to a closed door. He was gone.
I turned to face the mirror where my eyes were just as huge as I expected and my face was pale.
Then I whispered, “Shit.”
Chapter Eighteen
Cleaver
I stared in the mirror.
I’d grabbed my clothes in a tizzy but even if I didn’t, I was unprepared.
In normal circumstances, any meeting with the parents necessitated a carefully strategized trip to the mall, a manicure, pedicure, facial, hair trim and at least a week of psyching yourself up.