So she’s French? Kidding. You better spill it tomorrow, Jimbo.
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I spin around, bumping my head into the cabinet and dropping my phone.
“Oww!” I grab my head and she rushes over, running her hands through my hair. I should do that more often.
“Sorry, I was trying not to sneak up on you since you seemed like you were kind of in your own little world!” She continues checking my head and trying to act concerned as she hides her laughter. “Did you find the demon in my fridge? The fucker keeps bailing on rent and overcooking my eggs.”
“What? No, I was, uhm, I was gonna make coffee.” I hold up the package of grounds and shrug while I wince. “You said you wanted coffee, didn’t you? Wait, who cooks your eggs?”
“Relax, I was trying to be funny. Do you have a concussion or something?” Her smile is soft, and the sun lights her wild hair like a pink lion’s mane. The silky bathrobe clings to her glistening, wet skin. She’s not wearing a top, and her nipples are getting hard—so am I.
Good morning, butterflies. It’s nice to know you’re still around.
“I think I died, actually.” There’s no doubt that my grin is goofy and uncool, but I can’t help it.
“Head okay?”
The ten-year-old in me giggles because of where my brain is. Thank fucking god I’m not high right now. I probably do have a concussion. “What? I mean, yeah, I uhm, I would make you breakfast, but?—”
“I have no food. I know. I keep heading to the grocery store and ending up at parties with Dani. It’s crazy.”
She hops up on the counter, and my eyes follow the fabric as it slips off her bare shoulder and down her arm. The opening, barely covering her breasts, dives to her soft stomach. The air is thick and I feel like I just ran a marathon.
“So, you okay?” My voice strains. I clear my throat as she grins and fixes her robe, “I mean, the nightmare.”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I get nightmares sometimes. Thankfully, I rarely remember them once I wake up.”
There’s a familiar twitch in her eye when she says that, one I barely even catch. She’s lying. She remembers all of her nightmares. I know how that can mess with someone’s head. It’s strange how much we have in common, and not much of it is good.
“So, uhm, do you have plans for today?” She asks with an eyebrow cocked, “Or are you just going to stand in my kitchen all day staring at me while holding up stale coffee grounds and filters?”
“No. That’s all I have planned for the rest of my life. How about you?” I’m laughing again, and it’s such a strange sensation. It’s easy, not forced, not fake, just as natural as breathing—which I still have trouble doing when I’m near her. Everything seems easier around her—everything except breathing and talking.
“I thought we could get some of the beach shots they wanted out by the pier. It’s probably not too bad this early. According to the weather app, we’ve got clouds for most of the morning.” She slides off the counter and her hand brushes against mine as she reaches around me and presses the button on the coffeemaker that I had altogether forgotten about. This attempt at making her coffee is going as smoothly as most of my life.
Forget butterflies; when she moves, her body presses against me, and I’m hard as a rock. I’m trying to stand still and I’m not sure that’s helping.“T-that would be great. I need to check my Jeep to see if I have any clean clothes?—”
“Take off your pants,” she whispers into my ear.
I’m glad I’m leaning against the counter, because my knees just gave out. Or Ididjust die.
She crosses the room and I somehow catch the heap of fabric she tosses at me, still trying to wrap my brain around what she’s asked me to do. She laughs hard, doubling over when she realizes I’m not moving away from the counter. I follow right along with her, shaking my head at the sweatpants she threw at me. This should be uncomfortable. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Everything about right now—about her—just feels so right.
She gestures to the sweatpants., “I figured you could shower and then wear these while we toss your clothes in the washer.” She nods to a stacked washer/dryer unit at the other end of the kitchen. “I can order breakfast, and we can go through the photos from yesterday while we eat. Then possibly the beach.”
“Shit,” I whisper as I stare at the laundry machines. “I was going to try to tempt you out to my place with the promise of a private, free washer and dryer. Guess I have to do better than that now, huh?”
She bites her lip as she looks at me. For a second, I think she might wait for me to strip out of my clothes right there in front of her, and I seriously think about it until she steps aside and says, “Leave your clothes on my bed. There are towels on the counter for you. I’ll finish the coffee and then start the laundry when I hear the water turn off. I’ll try to find you a shirt, too.”
I nod, or I think I do. I’ve gone full zombie on my way to the bedroom until I’m standing next to her bed with my clothes in my hand. Part of me wants to call Coop and ask him what the fuck I’m supposed to do. This is his thing; I’m just the wingman. He’s the one meeting stunning women and being smooth enough to land a date or whatever. Although, his luck with women has declined in recent years. Calling him is definitely off the table.
Instead, I pull up my dad’s number and wait. I listen to the voicemail greeting, hang up, and take a deep breath to center myself.
Standing in the shower, I let the water cascade down my face and hair as I try to pull my head out of the clouds. I spot her body wash and sure enough, it’s cherry blossom scented. I think about popping the lid open, but that smell won’t help this hard-on. In fact, it would make me do things I don’t want to do in her shower. At least, not without her. I turn the hot water off and let the blast of cold hit me until I’m shivering.
The sweatpants are a little tight, but they’ll do for now. I check the bed and I don’t see a shirt anywhere. For a split second, I contemplate checking her closet, but then change my mind. Her voice comes from the kitchen as I emerge from the bedroom. I listen, and once I’m sure she’s on the phone, I grab my hoodie and head for the couch.
“The sweats are a good look on you.” She’s chipper and sweet as she joins me.
