upset him. Whether I’ve known him for a week or a year, it was a shit thing to do.
Me: Eggs before they hatched?
Hayes: Hungry?
Me: Starved. And I still like you and stuff, too.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HAYES INVITED ME to his condo. He’s been busy whipping up eggs, bacon and pancakes. “You have something to prove, don’t you?” I ask, getting settled on the stool at his kitchen island.
“I may never look as cute as you in an apron, Blondie-locks, but I can cook breakfast like no one’s business.” I’m marveling at the speed and precision with which he mixes the eggs. To a chef, the visual of guy with a beater couldn’t be hotter. “I’ve been thinking about your case.”
My case? The thing I’ve been diligently trying to avoid? The fact that someone thinks I may have done the unthinkable? “Oh?”
“You didn’t do it,” he says. There isn’t a question in his voice.
“What do you mean?” I ask, praying he has some logic or fact to back this up. Because anything that pushes me farther from being considered a suspect will make me feel better.
“A cigarette was not the cause of the fire. Even if you lit your cigarette against the house, it wouldn’t have caused the fire you described. This isn’t your fault, Felicity.” I want to ask him so much. I want to know how he came to this conclusion. How can he be so sure? But mostly, I want to know that the detectives and investigators on this case will prove my innocence as easily. “However,” he continues, “smoking will kill you.” I knew that was coming. “You don’t need that shit. Trust me. I used to smoke a pack a day. When I quit, it was like a blanket of smog being lifted off of my chest. Everything smelled better, tasted better and I felt lighter and healthier.” He plates the eggs and the bacon. “I can help you.”
By help, he means taking away my cigarettes—my security, then telling me to think calming thoughts whenever I get the urge to smoke. “I don’t know. Blake tried to get me stop a few times.” I walk over to his cabinets, opening up each one until I find a bottle of Tabasco. “Mind if I—?”
He winks. “The hotter, the better.”
I nudge his shoulder, turn around and lean back against the counter. “Honestly, I didn’t think I was addicted to them. It was only one a day, more like a hobby than an addiction. It’s just not who I am. But when Blake tried to get me to stop or even when I told myself enough was enough…it never really was enough.” It’s hard to admit it to myself, let alone out loud. But he’s done it; he’ll make for good company. “How did you quit?” I open another cabinet and find powdered sugar for the pancakes. I reach for it as his hands find my hips, his lips find my neck, and my knees go weak.
“Persistence. Motivation. Perseverance.” Each word muttered softly between kisses expertly placed along my neck. “And sex,” he whispers into my ear in a low hum.
I whip around and catch the seductive look in his eye. “You used sex to help you quit?”
“No,” he says, pressing against me and pinning me to the cabinets. “But it could help you.” His lips leave a trail from my ear to my neck, and my head falls to the side, welcoming his every touch. He lifts me up, sliding me onto the counter, pressing himself between my legs in pursuit of another kiss. “Now, sit still. I’m making you breakfast.” He moves to the stove, continuing with the pancakes.
“You should flip those.”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He laughs, pointing the spatula over to the island. “Go sit over there and keep your hands to yourself. They’ll be ready in a second.” I hop down from the counter and reclaim my seat at the island. “Anyway, I won’t if you don’t want me to, but I’d like to help with the investigation. I can get my firm to collaborate with the station.
“So, I’d be hiring you as my own personal private investigator?”
“Yeah, something like that.” He places two plates down between us.
“Okay then. But, there’s one condition.” I take the fork he hands me and stab it into the eggs. “Only if this food is as good as you claim. If it’s not, I don’t know if I can trust your judgment.”
He nods his head toward my plate.