“I could eat,” I say. “What do you have?”
“You like omelets? Because I make a killer omelet, if I do say so myself.”
“With extra cheese?”
“So much cheese. Oozing great big gobs of delicious gooey cheese.”
“And bacon?”
He winks, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “You know it.”
I can’t hold back a grin. “Will you cook shirtless? And maybe put on some music and dance while you do it?”
He smirks. “Why, Miss Park, it feels like you’re objectifying me.”
I roll my eyes and bite my lower lip. “I mean, a little?”
He just laughs. “I could probably find it within me to cater to your lecherous desires.”
“Lecherous desires would be naked but for an apron, and an apron only because I wouldn’t want you to be burned by the spitting bacon grease.”
He touches his lips to mine. “You’re funny.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Who’s being funny?”
“So we’re doing naked breakfast, is what you’re saying? Because if I’m naked, so are you.”
“Clothes are overrated?” I say, phrasing a statement as a hopeful question.
He slides his hands under the hem of my shirt, grasping the bare flesh of my waist just above the elastic band of my shorts. “The only problem I see with naked breakfast is that if you’re naked, I’m not sure how much cooking or eating will happen. Because you naked is all sorts of distracting, and we’ll end up doing things other than breakfast.”
I snap my fingers. “Damn. You discovered my diabolical plan.”
He pulls me flush against his body. “Jolene, Jolene, Jolene,” he says with a sigh.
“Westley, Westley, Westley.”
“You don’t need an excuse, or a plan, or anything. You want something with me, or from me, just ask. Or, if not ask in words, communicate what you want somehow.”
My stomach growls, and I laugh. “Damn bodily needs. I’ll settle for Shirtless Chef.”
He rumbles a laugh. “That sounds like a dirty spinoff of Iron Chef.”
“We should pitch it. Sexy shirtless chefs in a cooking competition. Equal parts bodybuilding competition and cook-off.” I cackle at my own idea. “I mean, shoot, there’s been any number of shows objectifying women, right? Powderpuff football, for example. The bathing suit element in beauty pageants, if not the entire idea of beauty pageants as a whole. Point is, I think it’s high time we women get something for us, and I feel like Shirtless Chef is a great idea.”
He snorts. “Dinah says there’s nothing sexier than a hot guy doing housework. So why stop at Shirtless Chef? Shirtless vacuuming. Shirtless dishwashing.”
I widen my eyes and clap my hands as I laugh. “Oh boy, shirtless dishwashing would be a win. All those suds! Suds and Studs, you could call it.”
“Suds and Studs!” he echoes, laughing. “That’s a good one.” He tweaks a nipple over my shirt, more affectionate and playful than erotic. “Take a shower, brush your teeth, whatever. I’ll make us breakfast.”
“Wanna know something kinda funny?”
“Hmm?”
“Since I’ve been either bald or my hair has been growing back for in most of my life, and I don’t wear makeup, taking a shower and getting dressed for me is usually a matter of five, maybe ten minutes. I could probably shower and dress faster than you.”
“You don’t wear makeup? Ever?”
