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I watch her throw out a white shirt, and I catch it deftly. “Do you have a black or blue coat, a short one? And pants of the same shade?”
She turns around to look at me, warily. “Yes.”
I neatly lay out the shirt on the bed. “White shirt, blue coat, and trousers. You’re set.”
She blinks. “I thought it was supposed to be all blue or all black.”
I grin. “I’m starting to question your fashion choices.”
Climbing out of bed, I watch her cheeks turn red at seeing me bare, and she immediately turns around.
I walk around the bed, grab her gently by the neck, and pull her forward for a kiss. When I let go of her, she staggers, her eyes dazed.
“Good morning,” I smile to her, and she opens her mouth to say it back before lifting a finger, asking me to wait.
Getting her breath back, she suddenly smacks me in the chest. “No sneak attacks!”
Laughing at her, I walk towards the bathroom. A quick shower later, I pull on the sweatpants that I tossed off last night and which now lay neatly folded on Bryan’s bed.
Walking into the kitchen, I frown, remembering the toast I saw in her mouth. I hop
e that isn’t her breakfast.
Rolling up my imaginary sleeves, I get to work.
After graduating from college, I enrolled myself in a variety of culinary schools, one after the other. Then I jumped to working under the best chefs, learning what I could, retaining what I wanted.
But, as I hum under my breath, throwing in eggs to make an omelet and making some sweet French toast, it occurs to me that I have never once cooked for a woman I went out with.
I never dated exclusively, never having the time to focus on a relationship, but with Sarah, I want to treasure her. I have never met someone like her, so eager and full of life. I don’t know what I am trying to do or how to go about it.
I frown as I plate some of the eggs.
Sleeping with her after just a week of knowing her probably wasn’t a good idea. I should ask her out.
I sigh.
She still thinks I am a bartender. How am I going to get out of that one, without her accusing me of lying to her?
Hearing footsteps, I pick up the plates and put them on the table.
Sarah looks hesitant. “You didn’t have to make breakfast.”
I point to the toast in her hand. “Throw that away. How do you burn toast?”
She glares at me. “Not everyone has magic culinary skills. Some are born to be dunces in the kitchen to make people like you feel better about yourself.”
I grin at her. “Ouch.”
“Come on. Eat something. How’s your headache?” I ask her.
She sits down at the table, and I see her fingers move quickly over her hair as she weaves it into a long and thick braid, effectively tying the end with some rubber band.
I quickly sit down to hide my hardening cock.
Even this one simple act makes me hard around her. I bit back my groan. I will never be able to watch her get dressed. The desire to take her and rumple her back up would be too great.
Sarah didn't notice my preoccupation, and she blushes slightly. “Well, ah, it kind of disappeared after you showed up.”
