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After they both gave him salutes, they rounded up all that he needed while he pulled out a cutting board and a couple of knives. Ruben turned on some music and they cooked together, Ruben adding garlic bread to the menu, Prince making a big salad.
They had to make two huge pans of it, with all the men that they’d be feeding. By the time it came out of the oven, the men were coming in the door, scenting the house with sweat, leather, and sunshine.
Even his three bodyguards came to eat, either crowding around the table, at the island, or a couple were standing.
Sel finally met Kirk, the president of the Devil’s Rebel’s out of Denver, Colorado, and his husband, Malcom. Malcom was a sweetheart, smiling warmly at them as he took his plate from the counter. He was tiny compared to his huge, muscled husband. “This smells incredible.”
“Please, give Mal the recipe. He’s a terrible cook.”
“I am not! And if you’re so great, you could cook more.”
Watching them bicker was hilarious. The littler man was definitely scarier than the giant husband of his. When those dark blue eyes of Mal’s flashed, Kirk’s voice became sweeter.
“Babe, when I cook, you tell me it’s too healthy.”
“I go for months without pizza. You’d be mad too.”
Ruben stopped them by suggesting, “How about we make pizza tomorrow? Kirk’s can be healthy, Mal’s can be full of pepperoni and cheese. We have an Italian in the house! We should take advantage.”
“Ruben, not nice,” Dallas warned. Dallas, a big cowboy with the light blond hair that was stuck to his head from wearing his cowboy hat all day. It didn’t detract from his handsomeness a bit.
“I don’t mind,” Sel told them. “I enjoy making pizza. I can make a bunch of them, put the crusts and sauce out and we can set out all kinds of toppings and people can set up their own.”
“Now, we’re talking,” Marius said, clapping his big hands together. “I will make the sauce, though. Southern Italy makes better sauce than Sicily.”
“Sicily is southern Italy,” Sel argued.
“It’s an island, hence why it’s called Sicily.”
Dex agreed with Marius, of course. “Napoli, that’s real Italy.”
“Uh oh,” Ruben told the others. “We’re about to have a mafia shootout. Everyone duck.”
Then Sel thought of something. Prince and Ruben were amazing, but there was another person he’d liked right off the bat, and it just so happened the man could cook like a gourmet chef, or so the rumor was. “Hey, I have a crazy idea. How packed are we in this place?”
“We actually have a lot of room. With you, Bennie and those bikers it’s a little tighter, though. Why?” Ruben asked.
“Well, I’ve heard the lady that works at the bunkhouse is a great cook, so why would they need two great cooks there, when he could be…?”
“Here,” most of the men in the room shouted.
Sel was on the phone to his uncle to run it by him, but whispered, “I’m gonna handle it. Make room, Ruben, we’re about to get three more people.”
Chapter Eleven
The house was full, but it was a nice full. The bikers in the place took up in the basement, Binx and his partners were given the bigger of the spare rooms, and even though he fought it, Selestino was given the smaller one…all to himself.
He knew that would make Indio snark him all over again, but he was trying to pull on a thick skin where the man was concerned. Still, he wondered how much ribbing his father or uncle would have dealt with before they would have shot the guy in the head. It probably wasn’t half as much as he’d taken already, but he wasn’t the boss yet.
With the mafia guys sleeping all over the living room, the place felt safe, though. Even Binx’s two “Sirs” were satisfied. They’d been planning on heading home because of the threat, but none wanted to leave Travis and Lonnie.
For breakfast that first day, he stumbled into the kitchen, smelling coffee, but what he found was so much better. There were freshly baked Danishes, of all flavors. Blueberry, apple, chocolate, cherry, the fluffiest scrambled eggs he’d ever seen and stacks of blueberry waffles.
“What have you done?”
Binx laughed and said, “This is nothing. I rarely make so much bread, my poor Sirs were getting spare tires around the middle. I was strictly ordered to do protein heavy meals, light on the carbs.”
“We’re feeding an army, literally. I think the carbs will be welcomed. I’ll take one of those waffles, as a matter of fact, and some eggs. And did I smell coffee?”
