Bo brushed his lips over Lucky’s cheek. “Get some sleep. It’s been a hard day.”
Lucky lay awake, wanting nothing more than to roll over and fuck Bo senseless.
Damn it. He reached into the nightstand and pulled out the box he’d shoved in there. Opening the lid, he pulled out two rings.
They gleamed in the low light.
He’d asked, and Bo had said no.
***
Lucky hugged the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Isn’t it early to be calling out there on the west coast?” He stood over the sink, separating egg whites since Bo didn’t like yolks, fished out some shell, and grabbed a fork to mix them up. Bo used the wire thingy, but Lucky never managed the darned thing without slopping eggs onto the counter.
“The girls took me out last night. Sort of a going away party.” His sister giggled. “Actually, I just got home.”
“Let me guess, you talked all Southern and guys bought you drinks.”
He imagined Charlotte’s eye roll. “You’re never gonna forget that, are you?”
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.” He grinned. No use in having incriminating evidence on his sister if he didn’t intend to use it. Not like he hadn’t gone all Southern to get what he wanted before.
“I need to ask you something.” She sounded much soberer than a moment ago.
“Yeah?”
“It may take a while for the house to sell. Are you sure you don’t mind us staying with you until I can get a place of my own, and making sure Ty goes to school?”
“Bo would have my ass if I did mind.” It’d be great to have Charlotte and her kids around, even if their presence did play hell on Lucky’s sex life. It’d only be for a few weeks, right? Lord knew she’d do the same for him. School, he’d manage.
Or Bo would.
“If you’re sure. Are the boys behaving?”
Lucky paused a second too long.
Charlotte blew out a breath. “Let me guess, Ty unloaded on you with two barrels of ‘poor little me’.”
“How did you know?”
“Um… I’m his mother.”
“He’s not that bad.” Not really, when compared to the juveniles he’d had to arrest on occasion. Todd and Ty weren’t like them, though. He couldn’t imagine them selling drugs, or their bodies.
Shit. As uptight as he was about his nephews, he’d actually shot a kid not much older than Todd.
He poured the eggs into a hot skillet. Sizzling and steam filled the kitchen.
“Pan’s too hot,” Charlotte said.
“How do you—”
“I’ve cooked before. A lot. Too much.”
Lucky snorted and dumped scorched scrambled eggs into the trash. Oh shit! What was burning? Smoke belched from the toaster. Two charred briquettes shot into the air.
They never hit the floor.
A white blur fled the kitchen with a mouthful of burned toast, a black and white shadow racing behind. At least someone appreciated Lucky’s efforts.
