I wanted to follow him and demand he explain this stupid shit, but I needed to get Lena home. And I didn’t trust myself not to haul off and whoop his ass for putting her life in danger.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” I said, finally turning to Lena once Eli pulled out of the parking lot.
She looked at me with a sparkle in her eyes. “Why?”
“I should’ve never put you in danger like that.” I moved closer and settled my hands on her hips, pulling her to me.
She lifted onto her tiptoes. “It was kind of fun.”
“Fun?” I pulled back, staring down at her.
She nodded. “Yeah. I got to see the Grey Wolf live in action. It’s a shame that it ended so quickly. And really a shame you still had this on.” She traced her fingertips along the sleeves of my exposed tank top. “Next time, take both shirts off, Wolf.”
I chuckled. “That’s enough action for tonight.”
Chapter 22
Gabe
Two weeks after the underground fight, I awakened to the sound of paper ripping. Despite the lingering bullshit with Eli, I woke up every morning with a smile as Lena sat somewhere at the foot of the bed, writing away in her notebook.
I sat up and pushed the plush comforter away from my body before standing from my sleigh bed. I twisted my neck from one side to the other, working the kinks out before I headed to the foot of the bed. There, I found Lena, sitting on the floor, notebook in her lap, writing diligently.
I squatted next to her. “Decided to toss this one?” I asked, holding up one of the crumpled-up balls of paper.
“No. I’m keeping it, but I need to rewrite it. It’s a good one,” she answered without looking up at me. “Did I—"
“No,” I said, cutting her off, “you didn’t wake me.” It was the same question she asked every morning when I woke up to her writing new music.
It was like once the writing bug bit her, she couldn’t stop.
“I’ll get some coffee and breakfast started.” I pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Wait.” She grabbed my elbow. “I should be the one to make breakfast. You’ve made it every morning since I’ve moved in.”
I squinted. “What are you planning to make?”
She shrugged. “I was thinking of pancakes.”
“Hell no,” I said, immediately standing and stepping over her to head out the door.
“What?” she asked, standing to follow me. “I can cook.”
“Your cooking isn’t the problem, Cin.” I heard her footsteps on the hardwood behind me as I made my way to the staircase to the kitchen.
“Then what is the problem?” she asked, stopping at the entryway, hand on her hip.
“Pancakes.”
She sighed, shoulders sagging, as she peered up at the ceiling. “You cannot be serious about this.”
“Oh, but I am.” I pulled open the refrigerator and reached for the bowl that already contained the batter for that morning’s breakfast.
“So, you’re making protein waffles. Again?”
“They’re great,” I said. “You love them, right?” I gave her an expectant look.
“Yes, I do. But what’s wrong with pancakes?”
