Page 113 of Jaked


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Chapter 43

As it turned out, he didn't have waffles, or even a waffle-maker. But he did have bacon, orange juice, and pancake mix. Together in his gourmet kitchen, we whipped up stacks of pancakes and bacon, fried up extra-crispy. Carrying it all to his dining room, we ate looking out over the riverfront skyline.

Funny, I'd known Jake for years. And yet, except for occasional snack food, I'd never eaten with him. Glancing out the window, I felt myself smile. I was doing a lot of new things with him.

Soon, I wanted to do some of those things again. My stomach fluttered. Maybe after breakfast.

"You have a killer smile," Jake said. "Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Me?" I returned my gaze to Jake, who looked sinfully tousled in the early morning light. "Not lately," I said. "But—" I made a show of hesitating. "—Wait a minute, you don't mean like aserial-killer smile, do you?"

He gave me a speculative look. "Now that you mention it…"

"Hey," I said, "I can assure you, I'm mostly sane." I took a tiny sip of my orange juice. "Or at least, that's what the voices tell me."

Before making breakfast, Jake had thrown on a black T-shirt to go with his black running pants. He looked fabulous, of course, but he would've looked even more fabulous without the shirt. I had the teeniest regret that he was wearing a shirt at all. Embarrassingly, I'd always fantasized about someday having breakfast with him half-naked.

I couldn't really blame him though. The shirt was my own fault. When he'd started frying up the bacon, I'd practically forced him to put on more clothes – and not only to keep myself from pouncing on him.

Mostly, I was worried about all that hot bacon grease. One wrong move, and any exposed skin would be in serious danger. Jake might not care. But I did, and not just for superficial reasons.

There was something about him that touched my heart. I couldn't help but wonder if anyone had ever looked out for him,reallylooked out for him. Knowing what little I did of his family, I seriously doubted it.

"Wanna know what the voices tellme?" Jake said.

"What?" I asked.

"That we need to go shopping."

"For what?" I asked.

He glanced down at my makeshift outfit. I was wearing the same clothes I'd borrowed from his closet. "I've gotta replace your stuff," he said.

"What do you meanyou'vegot to replace it?"

"Only fair," he said, "since I lost it."

"Yeah, but I borrowed your T-shirt last night," I said. "And it got ripped. So I guess we're sort of even."

"That was only one shirt," he said. "AndIripped it, not you."

At the memory, I felt myself blush. I lowered my voice. "Can I confess something?"

"You'd better."

"I really liked that."

He gave me a slow, intimate smile. "Yeah?"

I swallowed and felt myself nod. "Of course, you wouldn't want to do thatallthe time. I mean, think of the clothes you'd go through."

"Or," Jake said, "think of the fun you'd have."

I laughed. "Well, there is that."

"About your stuff," he said, "let me replace it. I'll feel bad if I don't."

The offer was shamefully tempting. Obviously, Jake could afford it. And I couldn't. But something about the idea didn't seem quite right. "Oh come on," I said. "That really wasn't your fault."