Cody was sprawled diagonally across the mattress, taking up far more space than his fair share, one arm above his head. The sheet was twisted around his hips in what looked like a losing battle to hide his morning glory. His hair was a disaster, his skin golden in the morning light, and his mouth open just enough to make him look indecently pleased with himself.
I told myself I was simply taking stock of the situation.
No touching, tempted as I was.
No kissing.
And definitely no licking… although running my tongue over my lips was an acceptable compromise.
Ever so gently I slid out of bed—careful not to wake him—and put the kettle on. The tower creaked as I moved about, but Cody only snorted once, rolled onto his stomach, and stole what was left of my side of the mattress… as well as my view of that gorgeous stiff dick of his.
Ass up, he ground his hips against the bed, murmured something completely indecipherable, and settled again.
I straightened a chair, picked up his discarded clothes, and stopped myself before I folded them. Progress. Instead, I draped them over the back of the chair. They were still unfolded, but at least they were off the floor. A nice compromise, I thought.
The kettle bubbled and Cody finally stirred, stretching like a man auditioning for a calendar, his grin slow and smug.
“Morning,” he rasped as he wiped the sleep out of his eyes.
“Good morning.”
He sat up, raked a hand through his wild hair, then padded barefoot and naked to my tiny kitchen. With one hand he scratched one perfect ass cheek, as if waking it up, while he opened and closed my cupboards with the other hand, eventually finding a couple of teacups which he set down beside the kettle.
His ease in my space felt so incredibly surreal… yet… something I kinda liked.
He poured his tea, then asked, “Milk? Sugar?”
Instead of answering that question, I pointed down. “You do know you’re walking around naked in my kitchen… with a hard-on that could take out someone’s eye?”
Casually he looked down, grinned, and then back up and chuckled. “That’s because waking up in your place and making tea is sexy as fuck.” He leaned in and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “That okay?”
He trotted back to the bed to drink his tea, and I smiled.
“I… suppose… so,” was all I could say, my heart blooming in a way it had never done before.
We drank together, me in the chair, him back in the bed as though it was a throne he had just claimed for himself like a mischievous Puck with no boundaries.
I was still trying to decide if this was terrifying or tolerable when his phone buzzed on the table.
He glanced at the screen and lit up, the grin spreading before he could stop it. “Sorry. Editor. I need to take this.”
“Of course,” I said, far too quickly.
He swiped the screen and turned away toward the window, voice bright, sharp, professional in a way I had not yet heard. “Hey! What’s up?… You’re kidding me, it’s approved? Are you serious… Patagonia?… long-form, feature spread?… glaciers, gauchos, ferries through thefiordos, yeah… no, I can pitch culture angles too… three months? Maybe four?”
I stood and headed back to the sink, as though I wasn’t even in the room. But it was impossible not to hear him.
He laughed into the phone, that reckless, boyish sound I loved. “This is the dream, Marcie. I’ll need a couple of days to confirm, but yes, yes, pencil me in. And thank you!”
My tea had cooled.
The call lasted another minute… ”I can’t wait to catch up again in person,” and “I’m gonna start planning the itinerary tonight,” and “Yeah, the cross-country trip is great so far, I’m seeing parts of the States I never even knew existed.” But the damage was done.
I could hear the excitement in his voice.
I could feel it in the air.
The room suddenly felt more closed in with him in it now.
