Page 22 of Nave (Henchmen MC: Next Generation #14)

Lolly

“No, you two hang back for a second,” Gracie said when Kit and Ariah tried to follow me outside as I saw Nave pull up.

Kit and Ariah shared a look but gave me a little wave. “We will text Nave when the power is back on,” Ariah assured me as I said a quick thank-you to Gracie before rushing outside.

I was more excited than I probably should be to see Nave after such a short time apart.

Nave was outside, moving around the car to open both the back and front doors.

“She got accessorized,” he said, looking at Edith.

“Gracie got a handkerchief embroidered for her.”

It was a crown with the words Queen Edith underneath.

“It suits her,” he said as he secured her in the backseat. After closing the door, he turned his attention to me, grabbing my chin and giving me a long, lingering kiss that I swear I felt down to my toes. I even swayed , for goodness’ sakes.

“Hi,” he said, giving me a soft smile.

“Hi.”

“Did you have fun?”

“So much fun.”

“Glad to hear it. Ready to head back to the clubhouse?” he asked.

“I could use a nap,” I admitted. “I’m tiring out easily lately.”

“I’m probably not helping with that,” he said, shooting me a sexy smirk.

“That’s a good kind of tired.”

“Want a nap buddy?”

“Definitely. It was nice to share the bed last night. I’ve, uh, never done that before.”

“Ever?”

“No. I mean, Ben would never. And before him, I’d been young, so there was never really a chance for that kind of thing.”

“Never intentionally spent the night with anyone before either,” he admitted. “Do I snore?”

“No. You did grumble each time you heard a door slam, though.”

“Even over the music?”

“Yep.”

“Interesting. I stayed at one of those awful sleep-and-fuck motels for a few weeks while I was on the road. Had this obnoxious-as-fuck neighbor who was a low-level dealer. He had people coming and going all night long. The door never stopped slamming. I guess I still have some feelings about that to this day.”

“I’ve never stayed in a motel or hotel.”

“Ever?”

“My parents wouldn’t spend perfectly good drug money on a hotel room.” Was my tone a little bitter? Sure. My soul still was.

“What about after you left Ben?”

“There was no money for that even if I wanted to. But I didn’t because, you know, cameras.”

“You slept in the car every night?”

“You assume I slept. I napped here and there. But that was it. I was running on pure adrenaline until I found you.”

“Glad I was somewhat easy to find.”

“We can thank your mom and dad for giving you such a unique name.”

“I’m named after the town,” he admitted.

“I suspected as much. I like it. It’s completely unique but not super out-there.”

“Got baby names on the mind, huh?” he asked.

“I’ve been looking at baby names books from the library. A very… memorable librarian suggested I would be better looking at old-timey birth and death records instead.”

“You met Aunt Peyton.”

“Having an aunt like that growing up must have been something else.”

“Her sister runs a sex store. We all got a very uncomfortably thorough sex education.”

“Well,” I said, letting out an airy laugh. “I’m certainly thankful for that education.”

“I will let her know that.”

“Oh, God. Please don’t,” I said, thinking of running into her again.

We climbed out of the car, walked Edith, then made our way inside.

When we’d left, the clubhouse had been a disaster. Garbage cans had been overflowing. Red drink cups and empty beer cans were strewn all about. And every single surface felt sticky with dried liquor.

In just a few hours, the whole place had been transformed. The garbage and recycling were handled. Every surface was wiped down, floors swept and mopped. The whole space smelled like amber.

“Wow.”

“The power of prospects.”

“Spike and Cain?”

“Plus Perish and the twins. They’re all technically still prospects. So they do all the grunt work around here.”

“All of you have to do that?”

“For a few months or years, depending on the situation.”

“Was it awful?”

“Nah. It’s a rite of passage. Makes you very aware of how we are each cogs in the wheel here.”

“And I guess it makes you very aware of the kinds of messes you’re making.”

“Exactly,” he agreed as we made our way into his room, kicking off our shoes as Edith—exhausted from socializing—made a beeline for her bed.

I pulled off my pants and bra before getting into the bed. Nave slipped out of everything but his underwear and joined me under the covers.

He slid an arm under me and curled me up and onto his chest, where I rested, listening to the sound of his heartbeat for a long moment as his fingers drifted through my hair.

“This is nice.”

“We should nap every day,” he agreed.

“We’re not really napping.”

“I’m not really tired. I just want to be here with you.” Despite myself, a yawn escaped me. “You should sleep, though. You’re growing a whole human in there.”

“Well, that’s a really weird visual.”

“Yeah, I take that back,” he agreed. “Take your nap. Then I’m gonna whip you up something nice for dinner.”

With the promise of a home-cooked meal, and the comforting sensation of his arms around me, I drifted off quickly and slept deeply.

When I woke up, I was still in Nave’s arms, but Edith had somehow joined us and was curled up just a few inches from my face.

“She didn’t want to miss out on a snuggle session,” Nave said. “How was your nap?”

“What day is it?” I asked, dragging a chuckle out of him.

“That good, huh? You knocked out for two hours.”

“And you just stayed here?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I shifted off of him, rolling onto my back, and doing a long stretch. Nave didn’t miss the opportunity to let his gaze move down over my bare legs.

But as soon as Edith leapt off of him, he folded up.

“So. Dinner. What are you in the mood for?”

“Pasta,” I said immediately. “I think it’s safe to assume that from now until I state otherwise, I always want pasta.”

“What kind of pasta?”

“You mean shape?”

“Well, yes, that is an important question.”

“I don’t like rotini or farfalle. But I like everything else from thick linguine to whisper-thin angel hair.”

“I have to add pinwheels to the list of no-go pastas. And I could do without a shell.”

“Unless they’re stuffed,” I clarified.

“Which brings me to the rest of my question. Do you just want pasta? Or do you want something layered like baked ziti or lasagna? Or stuffed like tortellini or ravioli?”

“Are you ordering?”

“No. I’m cooking.”

“Oh, so, like, frozen ravioli? Or canned?”

“We’re going to pretend you didn’t just suggest I would serve you canned ravioli.”

“I practically existed on that stuff as a kid,” I admitted.

And I was always thankful to the people who donated those cans to the food pantry instead of things that would need other ingredients to make a full meal.

Even if I’d known how to cook, our stove never worked.

And, sure, the microwave was always on the fritz too, but you could learn to tolerate cold canned ravioli. And it filled up your belly.

“Well, I can do better than canned. Or frozen.”

“You’re going to actually… make it? Do they sell empty ravioli shells?”

“Probably. But, no. I’m going to make the dough too.”

“That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, shooting me a smirk. “And what if I add that I am going to make homemade garlic bread? From scratch?”

“Now you’re just dirty-talking me.” He was still laughing when I climbed over him to get off the bed. “Come on. You have work to do.”

And he was happy to get right to it.

While I sat there mesmerized, watching his scarred hands effortlessly mix and roll dough, chop vegetables (because I “had” to have something healthy with my meal now), and make sauce.

Like from actual fresh tomatoes. There was a fractionating amount of crushing, seasoning, mixing, and seasoning some more going into it.

Did I occasionally get distracted by the way the muscles in his arms flexed? Sure. And did my panties almost ignite when he lifted a sauce-dipped finger in his mouth to taste the product? Absolutely.

But no matter how much my libido was begging to make him take a break, the other part of me was way too excited about a home-cooked meal to interrupt.

“I feel like I should offer to help. But I have no idea what to do.”

“We could do some cooking lessons over the next few months, if you want,” he offered. “But for right now, I like just having your company.”

“You mentioned your dad cooking. Does your mom enjoy it too?”

“She cooks. But everyone just prefers Dad’s cooking more. Ma makes a mean sugar cookie, though.”

“And now that you’ve dropped that little bomb, I’m going to need some sugar cookies too. I’ve never had one.”

“A sugar cookie ?” he asked, whipping around, a spatula still in hand.

“A homemade cookie, period.”

“Oh, baby,” he said, giving me a sad look as he shook his head. “I’m going to blow your mind then.”

“I can’t wait.”

We talked for a while about food, mostly about how his little family unit really revolved around it, about how his dad used to be the cook for the whole clubhouse when he’d been a more active member.

The conversation eventually shifted to all the different aunts, uncles, and cousins and their love stories.

“Are you disappointed?” I asked when he was finally done recounting them all.

“Disappointed in what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. That I didn’t show up after months of stalking you to try to fulfill a lifelong mission to kill you for what you did to me and my family when you were a spy? Or with a bomb strapped to my chest? Or dramatically running down the street in the middle of a hurricane…”

“Eh, I think our story seems to have some craziness too. Even if I wasn’t a part of the action-packed part of it.”

“You are probably imagining it as a lot crazier than it was.”

“I’m not asking,” Nave said, glancing over at me. “But if you ever want to tell someone what you went through, I’m all ears.”