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“No. They’re staying at Edith’s until the funeral is over, but they need a break. So they’re driving up for dinner and drinks, then they’ll leave in the morning. They can take my room since it’s bigger.”
Aleck pulls his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen a few times before lifting it to his ear.
“You can stay in mine,” he says. He must notice something in my expression because he follows it up with, “I’ll stay on the couch.”
I don’t miss the pang of disappointment I feel.
Then his attention is drawn to his phone. “Hello, this is Aleck Fox. I’m staying in your Poseidon Suite. I’d like to make a reservation in your restaurant for a party of six at eight o’clock. Yes, somewhere private, please.”
He looks up, realizing I’m staring at him, and winks.He winks. And I swoon, it’s kind of hard not to.
“I would also like three bottles of your finest champagne chilled and ready to serve upon our arrival. And please inform Chef Pompey of our reservation.” He walks around the island to where I’m sitting. “Yes, and transfer me to room service, I’d like to order breakfast. Thank you.”
Aleck holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder and settles into the barstool next to me. So close the smell of bergamot, sweat, and testosterone assault my senses. My eyelids flutter.
He’s a storm and you’re a dandelion, my heart reminds me…
“You hungry?” he asks.
I’m hungry for your hands on me...
Like he can hear my thoughts, and honestly, I’m not convinced he can’t, he swivels his seat around so he’s facing me. He leans forward, sliding his hands over both my knees, like this is something we do every day; tease each other, pour milk into each other’s coffees, order breakfast together, playfully and mindlessly rub each other’s knees…
I take a sip of my now room temperature coffee with my eyes on Aleck and nod yes.
“Hello, this is Aleck Fox in the Poseidon Suite. I’d like to order breakfast, please. I’d like an egg-white omelet with mushrooms and peppers made with almond milk, please. One slice of whole wheat toast—no butter. A bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with blueberries…”
Jesus.Homeboy is too disciplined for his own good.
He covers his hand over the phone, smiling devilishly. “I have to crack the whip after I indulged so much last night. Fried pickles, ice cream, Winter’s pussy…”
I snort a laugh, nearly choking on my coffee, and shake my head.
“What do you want?” He nods laughing.
I ignore the butterflies associated with hearing the words“Winter’s pussy”fall off his tongue and order. “Bacon…”
“Bacon,” he repeats.
“Eggs scrambled with cheese. Extra cheese…”
“A block of cheese with some scrambled eggs mixed in,” he repeats.
“Pancakes, buttermilk, with maple syrup…”
“Buttermilk pancakes with a gallon of maple syrup.”
Aleck’s hand moves up my thigh while he pours his playful eyes into mine. A breath catches in my chest, but he stills his hand and moves it back down my leg to my knee.
“Hash browns, extra crispy with ketchup,” I add.
“You know what,” he says. “Just bring everything. Send all of your breakfast items and if you’ve got ice cream, send that too. Thank you.”
Aleck hangs up his phone and slides it across the countertop. Then he leans back in his stool, looking over my face like I’ve got something important to tell him. The only thing Iwantto tell him istake me, but that can’t happen.
This is going to be hard.Veryhard. It was easier to ignore how consuming Aleck can be when he was just an asshole. He’s still an asshole, but now that I know him, he’s a playful asshole, a funny asshole, a giving and sometimes sweet asshole.
“I like the way you eat,” he says, moving his knee so it rubs against mine.
