Fuck. I hadn’t bothered to grab clothes before I came in here, too used to not having to worry about it in my own home.
I dried off, wrapped a towel around my waist, and hoped Iris was still asleep.
She was, kind of. She rolled over, looking at me with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. “Mornin’.”
“Mornin’.”
Her eyes opened wider, fixing on my naked chest.
My dick twitched in response, and I tried to think about literally anything else except her dark eyes trailing over my body. “I’ve gotta…”
“Oh, right.” She blushed, then ducked her head. “You probably want some privacy, too.”
Before I could tell her to stay where she was, she popped out of bed, still wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt with my company’s logo all over it and the tiniest shorts known to man,and traipsed out of the room, giving me an eyeful of an ass I wanted to bite into.
My dick was at full mast again. I was going to beat myself raw if she stayed here. With a groan, I palmed it, trying to remind it we’d already had our fun, and we had shit to do today.
Willing away my erection, I dragged on some clothes and went out to the living room.
Iris was already fixing breakfast, and my heart kicked. Was this what a lazy Sunday with her could be like? If she decided she liked overbearing assholes and I wasn’t hiding a massive secret?
“Shower’s all yours,” I said.
She startled, but kept her gaze on the stove. “Oh, yeah. I’ll grab one after breakfast.”
I cursed myself yet again. If I had to spend the next fifteen minutes watching her eat while she was braless—I couldn’t finish that thought.
Since Iris was determined to “make herself useful” by cleaning my already-clean house in thin yoga pants that hugged her curves and another oversized T-shirt, I made myself scarce. After telling her not to leave until I came back, of course.
“I’m not a child.” She crossed her arms.
“No, you’re a target.”
“You’re making my mom sound way more dangerous than she is.”
“You don’t know who she’s mixed up with.” I stepped closer and couldn’t stop myself from running a finger down her cheek. Heat raced along my fingertips from the small point of contact. “Stay put for a few hours. Please?”
She sucked in a breath, eyes widening, cheeks flushing. “What if something happens?”
“You call me.”
“Fine.” Her hands shook as she returned her attention to dusting.
I fought the urge to turn her face back to me and figure out if she was reacting to the situation—high adrenaline, pissed about getting bossed around—or me and my hands on her.
There were more pressing things to focus on. Like figuring out where Sue was hiding out. I hadn’t kept track of her old associates, but I drove past a few places hoping to see the Chevy Iris had described yesterday.
Three hours later, I’d found nothing but frustration.
When a question wormed its way to the front of my mind, I went looking for Hunter. The act felt familiar; I’d done it too many times before he’d been arrested this last time.
It didn’t feel like it used to, though. For one, he was easy to find. He was on Cole’s couch, laptop in his lap. Cole was nowhere to be found. I figured that was best, since I didn’t need any witnesses to what I was about to ask. I shouldn’t have been asking it in the first place.
“What are you doing?” My eyes tracked to his left arm. No bruising, needle marks, or anything else. I wondered how long it would take before I stopped waiting for them to show up.
“Filling out job applications. It’s a pain in the ass. Why do they want me to give them the same information three times and then take a fucking personality test to work in a goddamn kitchen?”
Unease curled through me at Hunter’s words. A kitchen was good; restaurants didn’t care about a criminal history or visible tattoos. But kitchens were also notorious for drug use, and that was the kind of crowd he should be avoiding.
