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She sighs. “I didn’t know what to think. I don’t know you. And I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“I should have left you a note letting you know I ran out to the store. Like I said, I’m rusty.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head with some embarrassment. “This stuff is new to me too.”
God, what I want to do with all her newness. But that’s not in the cards. Breakfast is though. “I promised you breakfast. I went out to get it,” I say.
“You don’t have to make me food.”
“I want to.” Does no one do nice things for this woman? She’s probably not used to much from men. Virgin and all. Well, shewas.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks curiously.
Oh, I guess a grin took over. “I was thinking about how much I like doing nice things for you. I was wondering if anyone else had. Then I figured you’ve probably met a lot of jackasses.”
“Actually, I haven’t really dated much,” she says.
Huh. I figured she’d dated jerks. “Really?”
“Dating is…complicated.”
“Yeah. I get that,” I say. Marriage is too. Mine came with promises that the woman I loved didn’t keep. I exhale, trying to shake off that thought. “But you know what’s not complicated?”
“What?”
I head back to the spread. “Breakfast where you don’t have to pick a thing off it. There’s no bacon,” I say.
Her grin is immediate and electric. “Yay.”
I crack up. “I’ve never known anyone to cheer the absence of bacon.”
“Well, first time for everything. You gave me my first,” she says, patting her chest. “I’m giving you one.” I enjoy this sardonic side of her so much.
“There are no eggs in this breakfast either.” I scrunch my brow. “I wasn’t sure if you ate eggs.”
“I do. As long as they aren’t hard-boiled, soft-boiled, Benedict, runny, over easy or in egg salad,” she says with a shudder. “Egg salad is the scourge.”
“Of the food world?”
“Of the whole world,” she says, emphatic.
“Well then. Let me wow you with some…fruit.”
She smiles. “You showed me your sex moves last night. Now, show me your breakfast moves.”
Yeah, that’s the woman I met at The Scene. The one who challenged me in the library. The one who came over and demanded I make her come. That’s my daring girl.
“You’re on,” I say.
“Do I get to help?”
“Not a fucking chance,” I say.
She sits on a stool, huffing. “Fine. Mister Bossy.”
“You like it when I’m bossy.”
“I don’t know. Do I?” she taunts.
