Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(50)

“Keys on the nightstand, Keekee. Lock this place up when you come over. Knock first but you can come in after that.”

She nodded, still brushing.

He grinned at her.

She lifted a hand, gathered the sheet of her hair behind her neck, and bent over the basin.

That jutted her sweet ass his way.

Christ.

He walked back to Jean.

Her eyes were on him the instant he walked back through her door.

She looked hesitant but excited.

“Is she coming?” she asked.

“She’s brushing her teeth.”

Jean beamed.

Fuck.

Hound moved to get back to business in the kitchen, announcing, “She’s nervous.”

“I’ll settle her down,” Jean told Saturday morning TV that she’d now turned down.

Hound had nothing to say to that and nothing to say at all because this was not something he expected to happen, or expected he’d want to happen, some part of him thought it shouldn’t happen, and another part thought it should.

Faster than he figured she would, even in the tizzy he’d left her in (or maybe because of the tizzy he left her in), there came a knock on the door.

Hound turned from the toaster to the door to see it open slowly, not far, and only Keely’s head coming in.

She glanced at Hound before she found Jean.

“I … is it okay if I come in?”

“Of course, dear,” Jean replied.

She pushed the door open, came in, closed the door, but stopped there, and it sucked she was cute in her anxiety and not because she was anxious. Because it sucked Hound found it cute.

“Let’s put this to bed, shall we?” Jean said immediately to Keely. “We didn’t meet under great circumstances but you apologized, and it says nothing about the person who receives a sincere apology if they don’t accept it, set what happened aside and simply carry on. I accepted it. I set what happened aside. And now we’re carrying on. So, Keely, tell Hound how you like your eggs. And do you like lox?”

Keely stood there and stared at her.

“Also, please sit down,” Jean invited.

Slowly, Keely moved to the couch and sat her ass down where Hound usually sat.

“Shep can make eggs?” Keely asked.

“Very good ones,” Jean replied.

“I do all the cooking for us,” Keely told her.

Hound watched Jean lean over the arm of her chair toward Keely and say conspiratorially, but loudly, “He makes sandwiches and soups for lunch, which are rather nice. But I cannot say his dinners are as good as his eggs.”

“I heard that,” he grunted, and decided to just let this be.

Jean wanted it.

Keely wanted it.

Right now they were his two girls.

So who was he to say dick about it?

He returned his attention to the toaster.

“Please do not take that as me being ungrateful, motek,” she said to his back.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

“Shep loves my cooking. So do my boys. When I cook for him, I can make more for you so he can bring it over for dinner.”

“I must admit, I had some of your leftover spaghetti a few weeks back and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask Shepherd if he would share more of what you had left over.”

“I’ll totally make more,” Keely said, and Hound heard the smile her voice.

“That’s very sweet,” Jean replied, and Hound heard the smile in hers.

“Can I ask, what does motek mean?” That was Keely.

“It means ‘darling’ in Hebrew,” Jean explained.

“You’re Jewish?” Keely asked.

“The mezuzah usually gives it away,” Jean said on an amused cluck.

“I hadn’t noticed it when I walked in.” Hound looked to Keely to see her twisted to look at the door. She twisted back. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”

“From Jerusalem. A friend of mine brought it back for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe thirty years ago. Outside of Shepherd, it’s my most prized possession.”

He felt Keely’s surprise at that, and then he heard her hilarity when she burst out laughing.

He looked from the frying eggs to the ceiling rethinking his decision this was okay.

“Bikers aren’t usually owned, Ms. Gruenberg,” Keely stated through her continuing fit of laughter.

“I slipped it past him when he wasn’t looking,” Jean told her.

Keely busted out laughing again.

Hound shook his head, his mouth quirking at the skillet.

Then he called out, “Babe, best give me your egg order or you’re getting over easy like Jean.”

“Over medium, honey,” Keely replied.

Jesus, how in the fuck did he find his ass in a kitchen taking egg orders from a woman?

But there he was, doing that.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever tried lox,” Keely told Jean.

“Then today is your lucky day. And just to say, please, Keely, call me Jean,” Jean replied then louder, “Shepherd, sweetheart, make sure to add some lox to Keely’s plate.”

He turned to the living room. “You women want me to put on an apron while I’m servin’ you?”

“No, babe,” Keely said. “Your outfit is just fine.”