“I’m going to make some breakfast. You want something?”
His words startle me, and I jump, the hot coffee sloshing in my mug.
“Uh—yeah. Whatever you’re having.”
He narrows his eyes at me, rounding the bar and moving closer, but I’m frozen. I’m afraid to move, afraid to show the effect he has on me. I’m his fucking boss, for crying out loud, and I made a fool of myself yesterday on the plane.
“Okay, well. I need a pan.”
He’s right next to me, allowing me to get a whiff of his citrusy and coconut scent. I wonder if it’s a special body wash he uses? Maybe his shampoo?
He’s also pointing to right where my crotch is, and, of course, there’s a shelf righttherethat he needs to access.
I shuffle to the side, still not allowing him to see my raging hard on as he dips and pulls one out, putting him eye level with my cock. Thankfully, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“Why are you acting weird this morning?” he asks me.
“I’m not. Why areyouacting weird?”
“You can’t just ask me the same question. That’s weird behavior.”
“What the fuck ever. Are you going to cook or what?”
“I’m going, you dick.”
This banter is not unusual for us, and it really makes the day go by quicker. The mood is light and playful, in a time that would normally be pretty dark and dreary for me.
With my back to him and the attention away from me, my cock finally deflates enough for me to continue my morning. I turn around and watch his muscles flex and work as he makes breakfast. It looks like he’s making some sort of omelet, but who knows with his antics.
This feels nice, standing here before work, enjoying company without the noise of talking. I’m drinking coffee and he’s making breakfast. If we were together, I would simply wrap my arms around his torso, hands splaying across his hard muscles while I pepper little kisses along his neck. Just enough to show my presence and affection, to hopefully distract him enough to drag him into the bedroom with me.
Jax is just easy to be around like that.
I’ve been thinking about it, and, at some point on this trip, I’m going to get answers. I want to know why he never gave me his number. I want to know why he ran away crying that following Monday. The what-ifs and could’ve-beens have haunted me from that moment, and, despite all the short term relationships I’ve had over the years, I’m always left comparing them to him.
Jax plates up the egg and vegetable concoction, something that looks like it should’ve been an omelet but somehow got way too scrambled along the way. He hands me the plate, and I dive in, groaning as all the flavors hit my tongue.
“Damn, you know how to cook.”
“Yeah, I did a lot of it back in college. Plus, my friend was a culinary arts major, so he used my place a lot to practice.”
“Oh, nice! I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you? We were complete opposites. We didn’t run in anywhere close to the same circles.”
I take a moment to think about his words, allowing them to marinate. He makes a good point, I don’t know him, other than the little bits and pieces I’ve gotten over the last two weeks.
“We’re going to change that.”
“Huh?” He takes a bite of the eggs he made for himself, so it comes out mumbled, but his brows pinch together like I spoke French.
“These next two weeks. I’m going to learn all about you, and you’re going to learn all about me. I mean, you should know a ton about me as my personal assistant, but that just feels weird with it being all,” I wave my hands like it’ll help get my point across, “one sided. So, we’ll learn about each other."
“Uh—”
“Nope. Nouhs, nobuts, nowhatevers. It’s a new job task.”
He doesn’t say anything else as he shovels another forkful into his mouth.
