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By the time they’d finished clarifying his feelings, he’d been annoyed with Deacon for prying and uncomfortable with the results. There was obviously something between them, but he had no desire to label it. Deacon, however, had no trouble defining anything. He’d said, “You’re stupid in love with her and probably have been for a long time.”
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable after replaying the conversation over in his mind, he slid out from underneath Chloe and went to take a shower. By the time he was done, he noticed she wasn’t in bed anymore. Moving out to the kitchen after he got dressed, he saw her making breakfast.
“Pancakes?” he asked, perking up.
“Yeah. I can’t make pancakes for just myself and I’ve wanted them for days,” she said, greedily eyeing the half-cooked pancakes in the pan.
Handing him the spatula, she said, “Flip them when you start to see little bubbles on the edges.”
He held the spatula and blinked at her as she walked out of the kitchen, unsure of what had just happened.
A few minutes later, she came back in. Reaching up, she gave him a kiss and said, “You were in the bathroom when I got up. Had to brush my teeth.”
Taking the spatula back from him, she checked the edges of the pancakes he’d flipped, then pulled them from the pan. Passing him the plate, she said, “Here you go. Butter and syrup in the fridge.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said.
Grimacing, she said, “Those will be cold. Eat, please.”
Not needing any further instruction, he placed a pat of butter on each pancake and layered it with syrup. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he moved to the breakfast bar and took a bite.
Smirking, he said, “If that whole accounting thing falls through, I’d totally let you make me pancakes every day.”
Laughing, she said, “Yeah. At least I’d have my above average pancake-making skills to fall back on.”
He continued eating while she stood at the stove, then moved to clean up while she sat down with her breakf
ast. Twenty minutes later the kitchen was clean and they were both full and happy. Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed his lips against hers.
Moving her head back, she smiled and said, “Your lips taste like syrup.”
“So do yours,” he said.
“I’ve got about forty-five minutes of homework I need to do. Would you mind if I did that now?” she asked.
“Not really. Will the TV bug you?” he asked.
“I normally listen to music, so I’ll put on some headphones.”
Settling down in front of the TV with his coffee, Chris turned on Sunday football. It was only ten thirty, but that was one of the best things about living on the West Coast. Football started really early.
An hour later, totally absorbed in the game, he gave a surprised jump when he felt hands on his shoulders. He felt her lips brush against his cheek, then move to nip at his ear lobe. He tilted his head, enjoying the nips of her teeth and swirls of her tongue against his skin.
He few minutes later he managed to say, “I didn’t realize you were done with your work. What did you want to do with the rest of the morning?”
“We need to leave for Deacon’s soon. I’m going to take a quick shower and get ready,” she said, standing up now.
Reaching for the remote, he turned the TV off and stood up.
Shaking his head, he said, “Oh, I think we’ve got time for a little something else first.”
Looking at the clock, she said, “We need to leave in a little over thirty minutes. I have to shower. That doesn’t leave a lot of time.”
Grinning, he said, “I’ll only need ten minutes.”
Raising an eyebrow, she smirked and said, “Gee. Ten whole minutes, huh?”
He stalked toward her now, crowding against her and pressing her back against the wall.
