Mick smiled sheepishly. “Oh…yeah.” He glanced at Whitney. “Sorry.”
She laughed. “It’s okay, and yes to the staying hydrated and feeling okay. No to the pain or dizziness. Natalie takes very good care of me.” She motioned to the cabinet. “Grab some plates and silverware. I’ll carry this to the dining room.” She playfully narrowed her eyes at Eddie as she lifted the salad. “Unless the sergeant thinks it’s too heavy?”
“Watch it, sugar.” Eddie slapped the spoon against his open palm. “There’s nothing wrong with your ass.”
Her eyes widened, and Mick chortled. Eddie had a point. They had to be careful with her belly and chest, but there was nothing to prevent Eddie from bending her over a table or chair and paddling that perky ass.
Ever the saucy minx, Whitney just shrugged and tossed her hair over one shoulder. “That goes both ways, Eddie.”
Mick guffawed as Whitney sashayed out of the kitchen. The very thought of Whitney spanking Eddie made him laugh so hard he thought he might pass out. The look on Eddie’s face didn’t help matters. It was a mix of shock and arousal.
“Down, boy,” Mick urged with a pat on Eddie’s arm. “We agreed no sexy times until she’s completely healed.”
“Yeah, I know.” Eddie shifted as if uncomfortable and pulled on a pair of potholders before grabbing the pasta dish from the stove. “And it’s killing me.”
Mick grunted in agreement. He wasn’t faring much better. He’d had four wet dreams in the last week. That was more than he’d had in the last two years combined. Not getting any from Eddie or Whitney was wreaking havoc. His libido hadn’t dropped just because the two of them were temporarily unavailable. He’d even had to give himself a hand in the shower a couple of mornings a week just to get his raging morning woods to go the hell away.
Something had to give.
Mick grabbed the dishes and silverware and made his way to the dining room. He set the table and returned to the kitchen for Whitney’s lemonade and his iced tea. He placed Whitney’s drink in front of her and took his seat.
Dinner had turned into one of his favorite times of the day. The three of them sat around the table and talked and laughed. It was so nice to come home and unwind after work. The counselor Whitney and Eddie had been seeing had suggested setting aside three or four nights a week dedicated to food, conversation, and even board games to help the threesome reconnect. With their busy schedules, it was so easy for something as simple as a shared dinner to be forgotten.
“You see the counselor tomorrow, right?” Mick speared a couple of penne with his fork. “Do I need to pick you up, Whitney?”
She shook her head. “We switched our appointment time. Eddie and I are heading in right after breakfast so he only misses an hour of work or so.”
“A buddy of mine is going to cover my shift until I get in to the station,” Eddie explained. “Plus I’d rather just get it over with than wait all day for the appointment.”
Whitney rolled her eyes. “Graham is not that bad, Eddie.”
“He’s nosy.”
“He’s a therapist.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t need to know about all the women I’ve dated since high school or the first time Mick and I got together.”
“I think he’s trying to make sure our romantic dynamic is, like, healthy or whatever,” Whitney replied. “I mean, yes, we went there to deal with any post-traumatic stress we might have been feeling after I was shot and you had to see me bleeding to death on the floor, but I don’t see a problem with addressing our relationship.” She gestured between the three of them. “Mick thought so, too, or he wouldn’t have come to that session a couple of weeks ago.”
Mick swallowed his mouthful of pasta. “I really don’t think he’s trying to be nosy, Eddie. Whitney summed up my feelings nicely. If anything, you should be glad a therapist thinks our relationship works and is positive for all of us.”
“I just don’t like people prying into my business.” He stabbed a chunk of romaine. “Thank god this is one of our last sessions.”
Whitney deftly changed the subject to something Eddie liked to talk about-mixed martial arts. Apparently there was a big fight coming up next week, so she’d pre-ordered it on pay-per-view. Eddie looked like a little kid on Christmas morning as he received the news. Mick’s thoughts circled back to the last time Eddie had tried to watch a fight. That night had ended a hell of a lot different than they’d expected.
Mick’s cock twitched at the memory. He quickly recalled less-lusty thoughts. Surgery, piles of hospital paperwork, that weird mole on that ICU nurse, Harvey’s, neck…
“Mick?” Whitney’s eyebrows were lifted as if expecting a reply. “What do you think about me driving again this weekend?”
“Uh.” He shot a quick glance at Eddie, who was mouthing the word no, and then back to Whitney, who looked so eager. Best to go with accepted medical practice on this one. “I don’t see a problem with it. If your chest and arms feel stronger than they did when you tried to drive a couple of weeks ago, you should be fine. We tell people six to eight weeks or whenever they feel comfortable.”
Mick smartly avoided Eddie’s gaze, but he could feel the heated glare burning into his cheek. Well, tough, Mick thought. Whitney needed to get fully back into her routine, and that included driving. If her shoulder and chest felt better, there was no reason to hide the keys.
Whitney twittered on as they finished dinner. When she started to gather up the dishes, Mick shook his head and sent her away to the living room to put her feet up and rest. “You cooked dinner, so we’ll do the dishes.”
“We?” Eddie frowned. “I cooked, too.”
“Then come join me on the couch,” Whitney invited. I’m going to watch Project Runway.”
“You know,” Eddie said, “I, uh, I think I’ll help Mick clean up.”
She laughed and left the dining room saying, “Whatever.”
Mick helped Eddie clear the table. They split up in the kitchen to conquer the mess faster. Eddie packed away leftovers while Mick rinsed dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher.
“I think you should have backed me up on the driving thing,” Eddie said finally, his annoyance still fresh.
“And I think you need to back off Whitney and let her move forward in her recovery at her own pace.” Mick tucked the last few pieces of silverware into the dishwasher basket. “She’s doing remarkably well, Eddie. She has a good head on her shoulders. She’s not the type to go all gung ho and push forward when she should be pulling back.”
“It’s not Whitney I’m worried about, Mick. It’s the assholes in the other vehicles. Have you seen how some of these people around here drive? One fender bender and she could injure her chest again.”
Mick sighed as he dug around in the cabinet under the sink for a dishwashing tab. “And what are the odds of that, Eddie? I mean, seriously,” he said as he rose and ripped open the plastic package.
“Probably a hell of a lot higher than her getting shot in a bank,” Eddie shot back angrily.
“Well, you’ve got me there,” Mick conceded. He put the tab in its little cubby and closed the lid before shutting the dishwasher’s door. “But we can’t treat her like a child, Eddie.” He turned on the dishwasher. “The world is full of risk. You, better than anyone, should know that. And she has to go back out there and live.”
“I want her to live, Mick. I want her to go back to work and go out with friends and make love to us and all that wonderful stuff.” Eddie’s hands clenched and released at his sides. “But I…I find it very difficult not to worry.”
Mick crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist. Eddie dipped his head until their noses were touching. “It’s normal, you know? To worry about the people we love. But”-Mick sighed-“we have to temper that worry with trust. I trust Whitney to make good decisions just as I trust you to make good decisions when you’re at work and facing off against the scum of this city.”