I don’t know if I want to kiss him or jump him. My body’s screaming one thing, my mind another. But somehow, somewhere at the bottom of this grave I’ve been digging, I manage to scrape together a shred of self-control.
So instead, I bring my mouth close to his ear and whisper, “I want another sleepover.”
We both stay frozen in place. The water still hasn’t started. We’re holding our breaths.
He reaches for the tap, breaking the spell as water spills down like rain.
I shake my head, laughing at my own misery. The guy is a fucking tease.
I’m not giving him the satisfaction of me chasing him. I made my move this morning, it’s his turn now.
I walk away and mutter that I’ll serve breakfast.
It’s the right kind of distraction. If he kept talking like that, I swear I would’ve grabbed him by that annoyingly perfect ponytail, pushed him down to his knees, and let him prove whether that mouth’s good for more than just talk.
And as brilliant as that plan sounds in theory, I’m still in some kind of danger zone, and things could go terribly, spectacularly, wrong.
The porch creaks under my bare feet as I step outside with two glasses of ice water sweating in my hands. Yosh sits cross-legged against the wall, eyes closed, face lifted toward the sun like a sunflower. His hair is still wet from the shower, drops gliding down onto his bare chest. It's distracting as hell.
“You’re fast,” I say, handing him a glass.
He shoots me a cocky, flirty grin. “You’re slow.”
I don’t know what happened to him and who this more flirty Yosh is, but I like him.
I go and sit beside him.
Between us is a crumpled paper bag, already half-open. He pulls out a couple of arepas. One looks like chicken and avocado, the other one is filled with shredded beef and paprika.
“Those are yours,” he says, pushing the bag toward me.
Same order, only with cheese added.
“You always eat like this after a run?”
“Nah. This is a treat. Usually oatmeal with banana, almond butter, and soy milk. Nothing fancy, enough protein and carbs to keep me from crashing.”
I scoff.
“Nothing fancy? That sounds like a proper influencer breakfast. Only thing missing is a vintage filter and a motivational quote.”
I swear, if looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ashes by now. But just like always, he follows it up with the faintest flicker of a grin.
“And you? What’s your go-to in the morning?”
“European breakfast.”
I can see the gears turning behind his eyes as they dart from side to side before settling somewhere near the floor. Then he reaches for his glass.
“What’s that?” he asks, and I deliberately wait until he's mid-sip before answering that.
“Black coffee and a cigarette, love.”
He nearly chokes, turning away to cough into the crook of his elbow. That pretty angel face is turning full strawberry now.
I can't tell if it was the coffee and cigarette part, or theloveat the end that did it. Maybe both. But it sure gave me the satisfaction I craved after that provocative little act by the shower earlier.
He clears his throat and his raspy voice mumbles, “Classy.”
