I’m a moron. And a man. Andwhat the actual fuck is happening right now?This isnotwhat I expected to walk into after a red-eye flight and two hours of sleep on a tray table!
Fuck!
My brain scrambles, trying to compute if I’m dreaming, or if this is some kind of early morning fever-dream punishment from the universe for eating airport sushi last night.
She stands upright again, closes the fridge with her hip, and finally—finally—turns.
Our eyes meet.
And she screams.
I scream.
It’s not my proudest moment. It’s high-pitched, instinctive, and way too loud for a guy who weighs two hundred pounds and plays a contact sport professionally.
“Don’t come any closer!” she demands, pointing the spatula directly at me like the sizzling eggs are some kind of protection spell. “I swear to god, I will hit you with this.”
“I live here. I’m your roommate, Turner,” I explain, slowly raising my hands, feet firmly planted near the door to the laundry room. “I’m not a burglar. I’m not here to murder you. Promise.”
She clutches the spatula to her chest, but her posture eases—barely. Her cheeks are flushed, chest still rising and falling like she just sprinted a mile. And she still hasn’t realized she should probably cover up.
I’m trying really hard not to look at her body, but my eyes are disloyal bastards.
She’s so fucking cute.
Ridiculously hot.
“Jesus Christ!” she gasps, lowering the utensil with a laugh. “You scared the shit out of me.”
I look at the floor.
Then the eggs.
Then the wall.
Thenaccidentallyat her tits again.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, my voice hoarse with exhaustion and the sheer effort it’s taking not to ogle her like a caveman. “I thought I was coming home to an empty house.”
She drags a hand through her dark hair, flustered and clearly forgetting the fact that she’s damn near naked.
“Nova said you wouldn’t be back until later today.” She crosses her arms. Not to cover up. Just to look more intimidating. It somehow makes things worse because her tits are amazing.
Sorry I keep noticing.
It’s hard not to.
“Yeah, uh.” I nod, keeping my gaze firmly locked on the far corner of the kitchen like I’ve never been less interested in anything remotely shaped like a woman. “Red-eye got in early. I wanted to sleep in my own bed.”
A beat passes.
Her eyes flick to the skillet, eggs still sizzling in the pan, then back to me.
“You want some?” she asks, voice a little softer. “I mean… I already made them. Seems dumb to waste food after I, you know, screamed at you and threatened you with a spatula.”
She’s offering me eggs.
In her underwear.
