I was shaking my head before the entire question was out. “Waffles are better.”
“Gabe.” She moved closer, her hands going to my waist. “Look at me.”
I peered down at her.
“You do know that it’s the same thing, right?” She motioned to the bowl that sat on the counter, full of the waffle mix. “Like, literally. The same batter you use for pancakes is the same batter used for waffles.” She sighed, sounding exasperated.
This was the third time in two weeks we’d had this conversation.
“And I told you,” I paused to poke the tip of her nose, “that it’s not the fucking same.”
“The only difference is the way you prepare it. That’s it.” She dropped her hands and shrugged.
“And how you cook it makes all the difference.”
She shook her head. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Pockets,” I finally said.
She gave me the most confused look I’d ever seen on her face.
“Waffles have pockets, Cin. Little, tiny pockets for even more syrup and butter to slip inside. Pancakes are just flat. The butter slides off the side and falls onto the plate. Completely different experience. Waffles are better.”
She looked up at the ceiling and laughed. “You … might have a point,” she conceded.
“I know I’m right.” I kissed the tip of her nose and turned to plug in my waffle maker that sat on the counter.
My phone on the counter buzzed. It was a text from Preston.
Pres:What the actual fuck?!
I sighed, recognizing that my planned breakfast with Lena was ruined. Preston had been out of town, working with a few of our other athletes. The night before, I sent him a text, in code, alluding to what happened with Eli.
Pres:I’m headed to the office from the airport. Meet me there.
“I need to go,” I told Lena as I glared at my phone.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Work.”
“But you haven’t had breakfast.”
“I’ll pick up something later.” I hated to have to rush out like that. Our mornings had become a savored part of my day, but Preston and I needed to handle this Eli situation.
I leaned down and kissed Lena. It was lighter than I wanted, but I knew if I let myself kiss her for too long or too deeply, I would carry her upstairs and not let her up for a long while. I didn’t have that kind of time that morning.
“Sorry to cut breakfast short,” I told her.
“Don’t worry about it. Go take care of what you need to.”
I headed upstairs to change. At the same time, I dialed a number I knew Preston would hate but would likely get us the answers we searched for.
“Leon, it’s Gabriel. We need some information,” I said into the voicemail of Preston’s half-brother. The two weren’t close at all, but Leon Maurizio was one of the biggest loan sharks in the state. He was also into illegal betting in most athletics, but also MMA. If we wanted answers, we needed to get to him.
“Call me back,” I said finally before hanging up and heading out the door.
Twenty minutes later, I walked into the offices of No Sweat.
