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“Why are we whispering?”
Spinning around, I smack right into Eli’s broad chest. When I stumble against him, he grabs my arms and steadies me. Once it’s obvious I won’t fall on my ass, he releases me with a smirk.
“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on people!” I scold and playfully slap him. Putting space between us, I then realize he’s shirtless. His shaggy, dark hair is pulled back and sweat drips down his neck. Stupidly, I lower my gaze and notice his ripped abs and that sexy V that leads below his workout shorts.
The clearing of his throat brings my eyes back to his. “You always this uptight in the morning?”
“Only when creeps refuse to leave my house,” I retort, pissed he caught me staring. I don’t want him thinking I was drooling, but it’s hard not to when he’s half-dressed and looks more muscular than I remember.
Eli pops a brow with an amused grin on his face. “You get that a lot?”
Groaning, I walk to the fridge and grab what I need. I twist the cap off Chanel’s water, then pour it into her dish.
“Did you seriously just use a ten-dollar bottle of water for a cat?”
Technically speaking, it’s more like thirteen dollars, but I don’t give him more ammunition to taunt me. He already has enough in his arsenal.
“Cat has expensive taste just like her owner.” He cackles.
“Why are you still here?” I ask, then get up to grab her cat food. “You need a shower.”
“Thanks for noticing. I was about to before I saw you trying to Tom Cruise your way into the kitchen.”
Rolling my eyes, I proceed to feed Chanel. If he thinks her water is high maintenance, he’d probably burst a blood vessel at her custom-made organic cat food. She purrs and immediately rushes over.
“Why are you sweating anyway?” It’s in the thirties outside, so running shirtless outside isn’t an option.
“Wanted to work out before starting this beautiful first day of quarantine with you.” He beams, furthering my irritation.
“You’re taking the whole make yourself at home thing to the next level.” I grunt that he used the home gym that my mother insisted on building in the basement. Not sure why she bothered, considering she visits once a year, and it’s never to work out.
“And for my next trick, I’m going to cook breakfast.” He flicks his fingers in the air, mimicking a magician. Then he grabs a pan and sets it on the stovetop. “Or is that off-limits, too?”
“At this rate, I’d expect nothing less.” I force a smile, push off the counter, and grab a mug from the cabinet.
“I’m making an omelet. Would you like one?” he asks, digging into the fridge as I mess with the espresso machine.
I raise an eyebrow. “Depends. Will it be poisoned?”
“If by poisoned, you mean it won’t be some fake meat bullshit, then yes. But it’ll taste heavenly.” He whips eggs in a bowl, and considering my options are cereal or a granola bar, I contemplate it. Then on cue, my stomach roars and grumbles loudly.
“Fine, but at least use the low-fat cheese in mine.”
He snorts. Fucking snorts, then laughs. “Whatever you need to make yourself feel better.”
“What the hell does that mean? Do you have to make a comment about everything I say?” I shake my head.
“Only when you say things like low-fat cheese. Sounds gross and would ruin my masterpiece.” He grabs more ingredients from the fridge. “If you’re going to survive being in a house with me for God knows how long, you’re gonna have to loosen up.”
“Or you could just be a decent human and stop antagonizing me every second?” I push buttons on the espresso maker, and it starts grinding the beans. Thank goodness. I can’t deal with him much longer without caffeine.
“But bothering you is the only thing on my to-do list today.” He flashes a devilish smirk.
Groaning, I open the silverware drawer, grab a spoon, then slam it closed.
“C’mon, Cami. You can’t be this wound up all the time. Let your hair down and relax a little.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have paparazzi following you everywhere. If I’m bloated one day, pregnancy rumors are blasted the next week. If I yell for them to stop following me, they say I’m on the verge of having a nervous breakdown.”
“Sounds like you can’t win either way, so why bother? Just be you, and they’ll get bored.”
I shoot him a death glare. “Are you inferring that I’m boring?” Turning away, I grab the sugar-free creamer, and when I spin around, Eli’s standing in front of me so I can’t move.
“That’s not what I said,” he softly states. I lower my eyes to avoid his, but he tilts up my chin, and our gazes connect. “I meant, the more you give in to what they expect, the more they’ll demand it.” He drops his arm, and I swallow hard. “They want to sell scandalous tales to magazines by twisting reality. You play into it, and it makes you look bad every time, so if you quit giving a shit, maybe they’ll stop targeting you.”
