Page 14 of Clear Shot (Lauderdale Knights #9)

Aiden

We both pass out when we get back to my apartment, but my eyes pop open just after seven. The first thing I do is check the news and the hurricane has moved away from Puerto Rico—coming straight toward South Florida. It could still turn but my gut tells me we need to be prepared.

I slide out of bed without looking at the beautiful woman sleeping beside me. This is true torture, having her next to me, in my bed, without the ability to touch her. I think she would let me—I know she would—but we’re in a weird place and agreed to just be friends.

Staying with Mr. Knight is going to be tricky because everyone will expect us to act like a couple—a married couple. Touching. Kissing. Cuddling. Sharing a bed. I mean, we’re doing that here but it’s different.

I pad into the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine and then put the news on the TV in the living room. Hurricane Katherine is all anyone is talking about and I listen warily as I take a sip of coffee.

This sucks.

Everyone knows Florida gets hurricanes. It’s one of those things that you live with but don’t spend a lot of time worrying about.

I don’t own a home, so I don’t have to think about damage.

My apartment is on the fourth floor and has hurricane windows and shutters, so that’s not a concern either.

If I was alone, I’d probably be going to Mr. Knight’s simply because who wants to be alone with no electricity and a storm raging outside?

At his place, there will be electricity, hot water, and at the very least a way to charge phones and such.

It’s ideal and I’m grateful to have that option.

Especially now that I have Hana to think about.

I can tell she’s nervous about the hurricane—I am too—but I have faith that Mr. Knight knows what he’s doing and we’ll be pretty safe there.

“Good morning.” Hana comes into the living room looking adorable. She has on a long pink nightshirt that hits her knees and has a big white rabbit on her chest. Her hair is in a ponytail and she’s not wearing makeup, but she takes my breath away.

Every. Damn. Time.

I deserve some kind of Monk of the Year award for managing to keep my hands to myself.

“Morning.” I motion to the kitchen. “There’s coffee and bagels.”

“Thank you—what’s going on with the hurricane?”

“It broke free from Puerto Rico and is heading toward us. They’re saying sometime tonight, probably after midnight.”

Her face pales a little, and she looks around like she wants to run. “So we have to go.”

I reach for her arm. “Honey, we have all day. And even when it gets here, the eye won’t reach us for a while after that. In the beginning it will be just rain and wind. We have plenty of time to pack some stuff, shower, make sure this place is closed up tight and get going.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s pack first and I’m going to take our suitcase over in my SUV. Then I’ll come back and get you, and we’ll head over on my motorcycle. Mr. Knight texted a few minutes ago to say the garage is full but we can squeeze my bike in there.”

“Should I go pack now?”

“Have some coffee,” I say gently. “Everything is fine. Look outside—the sun is shining. It’s a beautiful day. It’ll be at least twelve or thirteen hours before anything even starts to happen.”

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head a little. “I’m not usually such a big baby but I’ve never experienced this kind of weather phenomenon.”

“It’s okay.” I gently pull her close and wrap an arm around her. “Everything will be okay. We’ll be safe at Mr. Knight’s and who knows? It might turn and not hit us at all. Hurricanes can be tricky that way.”

She hesitates for a second but then nestles against my chest.

Fuck, it feels good to hold her.

I run a hand up and down her back, my touch gentle.

If I’d known how good it would feel to have her in my arms I might not have said any of the dumb shit that’s come out of my mouth. It’s not dumb in the sense that it was an excuse or something. I truly don’t want biological children, but is there a compromise? Like adoption? A sperm donor?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m just comforting her. It’s not like this is romance.

Or is it?

“Come on,” I say after a moment. “Let’s get some breakfast and then we can pack. Hurricanes don’t last that long so we’ll probably only need two days of clothes. Maybe three if the whole city loses electricity.”

“Plus my laptop and our phones and chargers,” she says.

“Toiletries.”

“Raincoat?” She gazes up at me curiously, like she can’t figure out if that’s a necessity.

“Can’t hurt.”

She smiles and for the first time since last night, her face is more relaxed.

“Do you have the ingredients to make pancakes?” she asks. “Claudia taught me how to make them and they’re my favorite.”

“I’m not sure,” I admit, opening the pantry. “There’s a box of Bisquick, so they wouldn’t be from scratch but I think they’re pretty good.” I pull out the box and turn it over. “And there’s a recipe on the back.”

“Perfect.” She takes it from me and starts puttering around the kitchen, finding the ingredients and mixing them in a big bowl. I don’t even know where it came from.

“Is that mine?” I ask curiously.

She chuckles. “No. It’s mine. While I was living with Claudia’s parents I was slowly buying what I would need for my own apartment.

I bought mixing bowls, a stand mixer, an expensive set of pots and pans, and silverware.

I’m storing most of it at Claudia’s, but when I saw you didn’t have big bowls, I brought them over. ”

“You can bring whatever you like,” I say. “And if there’s something you think we need, just let me know and I’ll order it.”

“Claudia has a griddle,” she murmurs, looking under the counter.

“I guess this frying pan will have to do.” She pulls it out, and I surreptitiously look up griddles on my phone.

There are a lot of them so I refine my search to “best home griddles” and the number is considerably smaller.

I don’t know if she wants a stove top version or a standalone, so I order one of each.

I can just return whichever one she doesn’t want.

“Do you have syrup?” she asks.

I grimace. “I might not. But I can run to the store.” I rummage around in the pantry and to my surprise, there’s a bottle of syrup all the way in the back. “We’re in luck!” I say, pulling it out.

“Excellent!” She flips the first two pancakes.

I get out dishes, forks, butter knives, and butter.

Then I make us two fresh cups of coffee.

“Start eating,” she says. “So they don’t get cold. I can only make two large or three medium ones at a time.”

“I can wait for you.” I lean against the counter. “They smell awesome.”

“I love pancakes. I add a dash of cinnamon and the last time I made them from scratch, I used vanilla protein powder, chopped walnuts, flax seed, and bananas. They were so good. Anders ate twelve of them.”

“That’s a lot of pancakes,” I reply, “but those sound amazing.”

“I know you have to be cognizant of your diet for hockey, so Claudia, Sloane and I have been searching for and testing out high-protein, low-fat recipes. And since pancakes are my favorite, we had to make those too.”

“Well, I feel honored that you’re cooking for me even though these aren’t the protein ones.”

“Next time.”

Next time.

Because she plans to cook for me some more.

I turn to grab napkins just as she turns with two more pancakes on her spatula. I jostle her arm and she stumbles as the pancakes go flying. With one hand, I grab her around the waist, and with the other, I catch the pancakes.

For a moment we stare at each other and then burst out laughing.

She’s so damn pretty when she smiles. Or laughs. Or does just about anything.

“Sorry about that,” I say, my arm firmly around her waist.

“It’s all right.” She doesn’t move, merely gazes up at me with a look that’s not easily decipherable. It’s happiness and curiosity and…longing? Like she needs something.

Like she needs me to kiss her.

But I can’t.

I want to but I can’t.

Not until we’ve talked.

I glance at the pancakes in my hand and grimace. I’ve pretty much destroyed them. “I think these two are toast.”

“They’re fine.” She plucks them from my hand and drops them on her dish. “I’ll eat them. Now go eat before they’re ice pancakes.”

“All right.” I move away, slowly and reluctantly, but I plan to touch her as much as I possibly can the next couple of days.

Once we get past the hurricane I want to take her out on a date.

An honest-to-goodness romantic night out, just the two of us.

And then we’re going to talk.

About compromise. Romance. The Future.

Our future.

My gut tells me it won’t be easy—nothing good ever is—but she’s worth it.