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I shake my head slowly. That’s not all. “You stayed.”
He shrugs. “You were sick. I was afraid to leave you here alone, so I slept on your couch.”
I glance down at my Jurassic Park pajamas, and I feel a flush of embarrassment creep across my face. “Did you help me change my clothes?”
He shakes his head. “No. You must have done that sometime last night. You were still fully clothed when I helped you into bed.” His gaze flicks down to my chest, and my skin grows tight. “I like the dinosaur jammies, though. Cute.”
I raise the covers over my head again. “Go away,” I wail.
He laughs. “You still haven’t told me whether you’d like breakfast here or in the kitchen.”
I lower my shield of blankets just enough to peek at him. “I’ll come to the kitchen.”
“It’s a date,” he says, chuckling as he walks away.
“We’re not allowed to date!” I shout at his retreating back.
When he’s gone, I leap out of bed and dart to the door, pushing it closed and locking it. I feel like death warmed over and make a vow—once again—to never go to Mercury Slice on Ladies’ Night. Half-priced pitchers of margaritas are too dangerous. Chugging the bottle of Gatorade, I scramble to the ensuite bathroom and turn on the shower. I don’t dare glance at my reflection in the mirror—nothing good can come from that. I have no doubt that I look far worse than I can even imagine.
Brushing my teeth in the shower to save time, I hurriedly work conditioner into my hair with one hand. Once I’m clean, I feel a little better. I dry off, comb my hair, and put on clean clothes. There’s no time for makeup, but Jonah’s already seen me at my worst. Glancing in the mirror, I wince at the dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. Oh, well. It’s been seventeen minutes since he told me that breakfast would be ready in twenty, so it’s time to go to the kitchen and face the music.
At least there will be coffee and bacon.
He’s plating our breakfast as I walk into the room. My stomach growls, and I remember with embarrassment that it’s completely and totally empty. Sliding into a chair, I eye the plate of bacon, eggs, tater tots, and buttered toast with appreciation.
“This looks delicious, Jonah. Thank you.”
He smiles at me. “Hashbrowns are best for a hangover, but you didn’t have any potatoes. I did find the bag of tater tots in your freezer, though. Hopefully, they’ll do the trick.”
I blush. “I don’t cook much.”
He hands me a napkin and sits down across from me. “I’m more than happy to cook for you.”
His words send a thrill through me, but I try not to read into them and remind myself that not only am I not allowed to date Jonah, but I also don’t want to date him.
We eat in silence for a few minutes as I devour everything that he’s made for me. I stop myself short of licking the plate clean.
“Thank you, Jonah. You really are an excellent chef.”
“Do you feel a little better?”
“A little,” I admit. “But death by extreme humiliation is still a possibility. I don’t even remember what I did last night.” Except for the puking. I remember that.
His lips twitch into a smile. “You told me that you don’t like me.”
I close my eyes, willing a sinkhole to open beneath me and swallow me whole. “Sorry about that.”
His gaze bores into mine. “Did you mean it?”
I tilt my head in thought. “I may have meant it at the time, but not now.”
His face splits into a smile, and it’s more magnificent than the sun. How could I have thought that smile was obnoxious just yesterday? It’s so warm and genuine. So… Jonah.
He reaches across the table, resting a hand on top of mine. “You like me then?”
I pull my hand away. “Jonah…”
“Right,” he says, leaning back. “You’re not allowed to date a cop. So… we’ll be friends. There’s no rule against that, is there?”
