Oh boy.
“My parents are staying here,” I reminded him.
“I got a place,” he reminded me.
His lair. Hmm. Another shiver which he felt and I knew it because it caused him to grin another grin.
His arms gave me a squeeze. “Work, then tonight I add to the right side of your list.”
I opened my mouth to tell him I should make my decision without my mind muddled by his superhuman sexual powers but I didn’t get a word out. His head bent, his mouth touched mine and then, poof! he was gone.
I swayed a second without his strong arms around me and his solid body to rest against. Then I turned to stare at the bedroom door.
Then I muttered, “I hate it when he does that.”
But I didn’t. If I was honest, I thought it was cool.
Chapter Eleven
Dress. Heels. Focus.
I was scoring through work again after getting eggs, bacon and coffee from Meredith; sharing in her delight that it was “only the living room, honey, and I’ve been after your Dad for months for a new couch” and “I really needed a few days off, so now I get to put my feet up” (told you she always looks on the bright side); saying hello to the commandos; having a shower; accepting delivery of my laptop, bag, purse and jacket direct from the “scene” from another of Hawk’s commandos; and holing myself in my office.
Cam and Tracy had called. Cam because she heard talk at the Station about the firebombing. Tracy because she heard about the firebombing from Cam.
Troy didn’t call and this was either because he was nursing his wounds or because Cam and Tracy had kept this news from him because they thought he was probably nursing his wounds.
I gave some time to considering calling him but ended up deciding to give him time to nurse his wounds. Or at least this was what I told myself I was doing. Really, I was chicken.
Everyone knew that I was no go zone for chitchats outside of initial briefings about my childhood home getting firebombed, all of which were done. They knew I was about work and focus. So when my cell phone rang, I was surprised.
Then I figured it was Troy.
I picked it up, looked at the display and it said, “Hawk calling.”
I stared at it. I didn’t have his number programmed in my phone mainly because I didn’t have his number.
I flipped it open and put it to my ear wondering if Tracy was playing a practical joke and, if so, how did she pull it off and, more importantly, why?
“Hello?”
“Babe,” Hawk replied.
Nope, not Tracy playing a practical joke.
“Hawk?”
“Little black dress, high heels, seven thirty,” he stated.
I blinked. Then I asked, “What?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight what?”
“Tonight, you in a little black dress and high heels. I’ll be there at seven thirty.”
Ohmigod! Hawk was asking me out on a date!