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5
Firstly,I'm aware of the drool creeping out of my mouth. Next, the sensation I’m scrunched into a bed half a foot too short. Also, the smell of bacon.
I open an eye and ground myself. I'm lying on the sofa in my gran's cottage with a blanket over me. Sitting, I turn towards the kitchen area. Through the door, Dylan stands over the stove, pushing sizzling bacon around a pan and singing to himself. Shirtless. I have never seen a back like his, how does anyone have muscles in their back like that? Sinewy, strong and sexy as hell.
Who is this guy? And why is he still here? I stumble to my feet and creep past him, upstairs and into the small bathroom. I study my bleary-eyed self in the mirror. Dark smudges rest beneath blue eyes, flushes of pink on my cheeks contrast pale lips. The night of pizza, wine, and sofa slumber hasn't improved my recent tired appearance. I pull the straw-coloured blonde mess through my fingers, wishing my brush wasn’t in my rucksack in the bedroom.
Dylan’s singing continues in the kitchen, so I sneak into the bedroom to recover my travel bag. My stomach sinks—I have to pack soon. Or is Dylan leaving? I can't remember; the evening is hazy. The bedclothes are scrunched, so he slept there last night—I wonder if he sleeps naked.What the hell? I need slapping.My clothes are now piled into a corner, and Dylan's black rucksack is placed under the window and unpacked.
"Please tell me you'renotthrowing your knickers around the room again."
I spin round. Dylan leans on the doorframe with mussed hair but a brighter expression than yesterday. I've no idea if he's changed as he's wearing jeans, but I'm in the same creased and not-so-pleasant smelling summer dress.
"No," I squeak.
Squeak?
Rubbing a hand across his face, Dylan scrutinises me. "You look tired. I should've woken you when you fell asleep downstairs."
"Doesn’t matter."
"The sofa is shorter than you, that can’t be comfy."
"I didn’t really notice; I was so… tired."Drunk.
He grins at my embarrassment. "Okay. Well, I made breakfast."
I gape at him as he wanders back downstairs again. Grant never made me breakfast. He'd find a bowl and spoon for my cereal and stick a teabag in a cup, but that's as far as his culinary skills went. I follow the inviting smell and equally inviting body downstairs.
"I hope the bacon tastes okay. Kind of a while since I cooked." Dylan scrunches his nose, looking as if he's a kid trying to make a meal for the first time as he points at the bacon wrapped in white bread.
"Looks good. I like my bacon crispy."
The image of a tall, tattooed, shirtless guy holding a spatula and a concerned expression amuses me and I chuckle.
"What's so funny?" he snaps.
Wow. Evidently not used to people laughing at him. "Nothing. Well, you are."
He purses his lips. "Then, I guess we're both amusing."
As we eat our surprisingly good bacon sandwiches, I'm aware of a new aura around this guy. Dylan loosened physically but also in his demeanour. Maybe, because he got a good night's sleep.
"Why was I asleep on the sofa?" I ask.
"Ask those empty bottles of wine." Dylan tips his head to the two by the sink.
"Ah."Shit.
"Don't worry. You didn’t do anything embarrassing apart from fall asleep with your mouth open. Nice look by the way, the little drool hanging down the side of your mouth was special."
I poke my tongue out. "So, you left me and went to bed?"
"The bed I paid for, yeah, once I removed your underwear." He pauses, and a glint of something appears in his eye.
Now that is what I think is termed a 'panty-dropping look'. Involuntarily, my mouth parts and a soft breath escapes. In response, Dylan shifts his eyes and frowns at the floor.
I should be relieved he left me on the sofa and didn't take advantage. Not that I think I'm his type; something tells me he's not into girls with a natural look. And there's nothing more natural than the state I’m currently in. As a teen, I dreamed of long legs and a skinny body like my friend Tara, but I ended up average height with curves. Nowadays, I’m happy with my size and shape and have no desire to emulate the girls in magazines. Looking like that would take sacrifices I could never make—such as not eating the food I love. I exercise and I’m a healthy weight, and that’s all I want to be. Why try for the unattainable and be miserable? The one thing I would change is my hair—my locks will never behave unless I capture the wild blonde waves in a ponytail.
