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I dressed quickly and dashed to the bathroom, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I tore off the towel, revealing a not-so-attractive mess, so I rifled through the drawers finding a brush, a few hair ties, bobby pins, and a hair dryer. I grabbed the brush and a tie and quickly detangled my hair and threw it into a loose bun, securing it with some bobby pins. I didn’t have any makeup, and honestly, I had no clue if I actually wore makeup, so I just shrugged at my reflection, satisfied with the result.
When I opened the bedroom door, I was consumed with the aroma of… “Coffee,” I sang happily. It lured me out of my room, my feet drifting straight to the pot. I bent over it and inhaled deeply. The black goodness was begging me to drink it straight from the pot.
Grady cleared his throat behind me. “I’m sorry to interrupt this deeply intimate moment, but would you like for me to pour you a cup or leave you two alone?”
I wanted to laugh because that was what you did when someone made a joke, and it was a funny one, but I couldn’t get past the nagging questions. Did I drink my coffee black, or did I like it with creamer? Or maybe I liked it black with just sugar? I shrugged loudly.
“I drink mine black, personally, but I know a few girls who like it with cream and sugar. I bought vanilla-flavored creamer if you want to try it.”
He must have sensed my inner turmoil. “Yeah, that sounds good.” I scooted out of the way and took a seat at one of the bar stools at the island and watched as he poured steaming hot coffee into two mugs. The flex of his biceps was visible even with the small movement, and it held my attention as he poured a little creamer into the one I presumed was my coffee. I couldn’t take my eyes off his perfectly defined arm. I wondered when was the last time – my inappropriate thoughts made me blush.
“Here you go.” He put the mug down in front of me, breaking my train of thought, which was probably a good thing, seeing it wasn’t traveling to the safest of places. Not right now, at least. I needed time.
“Thank you.”
“It was a lot of work, so you owe me one.” He winked.
“On it,” I smiled easily and then savored the first sip of my coffee. It was simply amazing, and a gasp escaped my lips that sounded a lot like an orgasm.
Grady watched with amused curiosity. “That’s a first.”
I laughed, and unfortunately, I had a mouthful of coffee that immediately left my lips and showered him, which only caused me to laugh harder.
He stood motionless from the shock. “A towel would be great,” he said, deadpan, and then chuckled.
I fell off my chair and grabbed the kitchen towel hanging on the stove handle. Without thinking, I started to wipe the mess from his face, still stifling residual giggles. As I wiped around the bridge of his nose, we locked eyes, turning the comical situation into an oddly intimate one, which he quickly broke by taking the towel and finishing the job. Embarrassed with myself, I sat back down in front of my coffee. When Grady was finished cleaning himself, he leaned over the island across from me while sipping his coffee and studied me much like the neighbor had. I shifted uncomfortably.
“Didn’t anyone teach you it’s not polite to stare?”
“No, my parents died when I was a baby,” he said so seriously that a lump caught in my throat, and my lungs refused air. “I’m kidding. Lighten up.”
“Seriously, you can’t joke about dead parents. That’s just wrong on so many levels.” I took another sip of coffee.
“Did I make it right?” He pointed his eyes to my cup.
“I believe so.” I smiled shyly.
“And I wasn’t completely lying. My parents are dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
We coexisted in a comfortable silence for a few beats.
“Why are you helping me?”
He took a long pause. “Because I can,” he said simply.
It was a good answer, so I didn’t pry further. I just wanted to enjoy the earth’s best creation. Okay, well, maybe two of the earth’s best creations. I blushed and let out a slight giggle at my naughty thought.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I replied coyly. He shifted, showing his slight discomfort with the situation, so I quickly changed the conversation. “How old do you think I am?”
“Is that one of those trick questions, like when a lady asks if her butt looks big in pants she should have donated twenty pounds ago?”
“No.” I giggled. “I’m serious. I have no idea how old I am. I don’t even know if me being alone in the same room with you is legal,” I teased.
