Page 69 of Fundamentals of Chemistry

“So,” I said, starting before he could say what I knew was coming. “Last night was a lot of fun—”

“Do you want some breakfast? I have eggs and toast.” He stood up and slipped his phone in his pocket.

That was not what I was expecting. “Um, sure. Eggs would be great.” I hesitated for a second before adding hopefully, “And coffee?”

His face softened into a smile. He replied, “Of course,” and my heart melted.

I followed him into the main room and took a seat at the small table while he busied himself with a drip coffee maker. I watched in fascination as he added a few scoops of grounds to a fresh filter and then filled up the reservoir with water. This was a lot more work than what I usually did, which was to fill up at the nearest coffee shop or, lately, the cafeteria.

Within a few minutes, the machine started to burble and the smell of fresh coffee filled the apartment. I might be in heaven.

Jack moved around the kitchen with the casual confidence of someone that used the space often, pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge and popping slices of bread into the toaster.

“Is over medium okay for the eggs? That’s how I usually make mine. Or I can do scrambled? I can also try an omelet, but it will probably just end up scrambled.” He chuckled to himself and shook his head.

“Over medium sounds great. You’re already going to too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, and perfectly cracked an egg into a pan with one hand. This man had so many layers.

“I can see that,” I said. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“My ex-girlfriend was a chef. It’s hard not to pick up a few things.”

“Ah. I guess.”

I didn’t know what to say after that. On one hand, I was painfully curious to learn what had happened in his previous relationship. What had gone wrong. On the other hand, I absolutely did not want to hear about another woman thirty minutes after he had been inside me. Better to say nothing at all. I folded my hands in my lap.

He plucked the toast from the toaster and buttered it. Then, he arranged it with the eggs on two plates, sliding one in front of me along with a hot coffee in a mug with the periodic table and the words “I drink coffee periodically” printed on the side.

I said thank you when he sat down across from me and tucked into his own breakfast. Sometime in the silence that had fallen between us while he prepared the meal, I managed to grow self-conscious. I pushed bits of egg around my plate with a slice of toast.

“So,” I started, without any real idea what I wanted to say. “Last night was… and this morning…”

What could I say? That it was the best sex I’d had in years? Probably ever.

I absolutely could not say that.

“We agreed on one night,” he said before I could finish my thought.

I gulped down a mouthful of coffee, burning my tongue. “Obviously,” I coughed. “Because of the job thing.”

“Right.”

I set down my mug and looked up at him again. His eyes were on his plate, and chestnut waves fell loose and messy over his forehead. My fingers itched to brush them back. “Just because of the job thing?” I asked.

Setting his fork down, he met my gaze with solemn, hooded eyes. “It has to be,” he said with as little enthusiasm as I felt.

I swallowed the lump in my throat but didn’t look away. The devil on my shoulder didn’t want to be done with him while the angel on my other was screaming at me to steal his coffee mug and run back to my apartment.

I nodded and pushed back from the table.

The angel won out by a hair’s breadth. I collected my clothes in a messy bundle and left, promising to return the robe later.

When I closed the door and stood alone in my apartment, I was full of restless energy in spite of all of my physical activity over the last few hours. I considered taking a shower—I definitely needed one—but that didn’t sound appealing for some reason. I needed to move my body and work out some of the agitation that had crept into my bones.

Sure, I had done the right thing—or, at least, the responsible thing—for once, but that didn’t mean I needed to be happy about it. At least, not right away.

A run.