With a small, satisfied smile, House watched her move around the kitchen. His good mood had carried over the last few days and she was more than a little pleased. Even when she turned her back, she knew the smile was still there. He eyes never left her. She wondered if he was even blinking. Turning to meet and match his gaze, she had to ask, "What? Do you want something else?"
He only broadened his smile and replied, "With a nightgown like that, it's amazing Victoria has any secrets at all."
Snickering, she turned back to the stove and set the flame on high Then she heard the chair squeak as he stood up, and the soft tap of the cane. An arm slipped tightly around her waist.
"Did you decide to come over and cook your own breakfast?" Cuddy asked, even though they both knew damn good and well that was the last thing on his mind.
"I like to watch." The double entendre dripped all around them and pooled on the floor.
"Me or the eggs?" she couldn't help saying as she cracked an egg one-handed on the frying pan.
"Mmmm...you're nice to look at too," he said in a low, quiet voice that was filled to the brim with salaciousness. His perpetual seven o'clock shadow scratched at her neck as he leaned in closer. "Feel like playing hooky today, boss? I certainly do."
"Tempting, but we can't. We're grown-ups with responsibilities, not high schoolers."
"High schoolers," he echoed with amusement. "Youth is so wasted on the young."
"I have a hospital to run."
"It's Sunday. What happens on Sundays?" He almost sounded serious, and probably was.
Cuddy sighed and gently removed herself from his grip. "The world doesn't come to a screeching halt on Sundays. The one day I play hooky will be the day a tornado levels the hospital. If that should ever happen–knock on wood it doesn't–I should be there."
"The captain should go down with the ship," House said as he watched the eggs slide from the pan to the plate.
"Yes, exactly."
"What about the first mate?"
"The first mate will be at the hospital too, on time." Waffles joined the eggs. She reached for the sugar-free syrup.
"If he isn't?"
With a wicked smile, Cuddy told him, "Then he puts away the rest of the dishes and scrubs out the toilet with his toothbrush."
House pretended to weigh his options. "Could you bring the pepper to the table?" he asked, limping to fetch his coffee cup for a refill.
Plate in one hand, syrup and pepper shaker in the other, Cuddy laid out his meal, then fixed herself a bowl of Grape-Nuts. House once asked why she didn't just eat a bowl of gravel being as it had the same consistency and flavor as her cereal of choice. She never dignified his question with an answer.
"If you don't want to play hooky," House began, smothering the waffles in syrup, "would you consider sneaking out a little early?"
"What is with you today?" Cuddy asked, brow furrowed, as a bead of soy milk dribbled down her chin.
"Answer my question."
"Answer mine."
"It's Sunday, we need to get to church."
"You're an atheist and I'm Jewish."
"Oh, that's right," he deadpanned, as if it were all a huge inconvenience. "Forget about church. We'll just have to have sex."
"You're a regular Valentino," she laughed.
"I'm better looking," he said, still in deadpan mode. "Come by my place tonight and I'll make you forget about Valentino."
"What's wrong with my place?"
"There's still two pieces of chocolate cheesecake in there," House answered with a nod at the refrigerator. "And that I just can't compete with."
