"I didn't figure you for a morning person," he says.
By "not a morning person" he means lazy and spoiled. Farm boy thinks he's cornered the market on work ethic, which is annoying to say the least. My friends did Outward Bound and SAT prep classes during the summers of high school, while I was scooping ice cream, babysitting and selling homemade jewelry on Etsy. Just because I've never shoveled cow shit doesn't mean I'm not a hard worker.
"You've known me less than twenty-four hours," I say, sipping my spoiled coffee.
"Fair point." He sets down his cup and begins rummaging through the refrigerator. "Want something to eat?"
He pulls out a glass storage container that's full of chicken parts and proceeds to fill a plate with two cold drumsticks and a wing. My stomach churns as I watch him. Based on our conversation at dinner last night, I'm convinced he's chosen this particular breakfast to annoy me.
"No, thanks."
Watching him consume the carnage on his plate banishes my appetite completely.
"Did you find anything interesting when you were looking in Renata's kitchen drawers?" he asks, in between gnawing on a leg bone.
Speaking of legs, I notice his eyes travel from my bare feet up to my thighs, and they don't stop there. It's a slow slide over my torso all the way to my face. Suddenly, my clothing feels see-through instead of solid. When I got up this morning, I figured the bra built into my tank top was enough coverage, but now I'm not so sure. Reflexively, I cross my arms over my chest.
"Why are you here? I thought you lived in a little cabin or something."
"I'm still building my place." He wipes his fingers on a napkin. "I haven't finished tiling the bathroom yet so Renata lets me shower here."
So that was him, showering in my bathroom this morning. All six foot three of him, naked and wet, about fifteen feet away from my bed. I bite my bottom lip until pain replaces the fantasy. He doesn't deserve my lust.
"That's kind of her. I'll be sure to knock then."
Seth gives me a confused look.
"Before entering the bathroom that we're sharing," I explain.
"Sharing?" He narrows his eyes. "How long are you planning to stay?"
I let my hands drop down to my sides and lean back on the counter because if he wants to get a good look at me, then let him. It's the most of me that he'll ever get. His eyes flicker to my chest then back to my face again, and I feel a little victorious. I take a long sip of coffee, making him wait for my answer.
"Not sure yet. I don't have to work until the school year begins, so I'm a free woman. And I really do want to get to know you guys."
For someone who doesn't like sugar, I sound like a one-pound bag of it right now.
"You do?"
He doesn't look irritated now. Instead, it seems like he gives a shit about whether or not I'm interested in him. That's a surprise. And strike interrogator off the job list, he's terrible at reading tone of voice.
"Of course," I say, crossing a foot over the opposite ankle. "I think you and I really hit it off. Don't you?"
Seth's face closes like a window. He hasn't missed my sarcasm this time.
"Definitely."
He dumps the carcass on his plate into the trashcan and slides the empty dish into the dishwasher. Then he washes his hands in a water, soap, lather, rinse process that's as tedious as everything else he does. Half the time I don't even bother to dry my hands, I just flap them in the air. Seth? He makes drying his hands into an event, flipping them back and forth inside the towel hanging from the stove door handle.
"I have to get dressed for work," he says, carefully straightening the towel before walking away. "Have a nice day."
I smile at him sweetly over the rim of my coffee cup, enjoying the rear view of him as he stalks out of the kitchen, the screen door to the porch slamming behind him.
* * *
Dad handsme an egg that's still warm from the underside of a chicken. It's grayish blue and fits neatly into the palm of my hand.
"Aren't they beautiful?" he asks.
