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“Did you take my key with you?” Otherwise, how was he unlocking the door?
“Oh, yeah. I hope you don’t mind. I had a copy made.” He fishes my keys out of his pocket and leaves them on the counter. “I figure if I’m going to be here, I might as well have a key.” A part of me wonders if it should bother me that he took it upon himself without thinking to ask, but on the other hand, I’m just too happy that he’s in this for the long haul to complain about a single thing he does.
“Great. I’m glad you did that.” And I’m glad he picked up food—bagels so fresh they’re still warm, along with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and all kinds of other extras. The coffee is good and strong, too, and I add plenty of cream and sugar.
This all feels so absurdly normal. We’re just two people fixing breakfast, the most average everyday activity I can think of. There’s no awkwardness. Even our silence is companionable, not uncomfortable. In other words, I could get used to this.
The first bite into my bagel is like heaven. I can’t help but moan a little—and when I open my eyes, I find him grinning. “Normally, I like to be the one to make a woman sound like that.”
A flush heats my cheeks. “And you’ve already done that.”
“I’m just saying, I might need to reassert myself.” There’s hunger in his eyes when they meet mine, and I don’t think it’s hunger for his bagel.
“Maybe you’ll have to,” I tease back. Who am I? Is this really me? How is it I already feel so comfortable and easy around him?
“So,” he continues, “what’s your average workday look like? You said you run a blog, right?”
“I have a pretty big following, too. But I’ve been at it for a few years, so I’ve built up my readership.”
“What do you write about?”
“I analyze pop culture and entertainment trends. Some fashion too. Nothing earth-shattering or groundbreaking. But people seem to like it.”
“That’s great. And it’s just you doing the work?”
“I’ve had guest bloggers in the past. Trying to keep up with creating new content can be a lot. I have to churn it out, you know? Sometimes I need a bit of a break, and I use guest posts to fill in the blanks.”
“No partners, though? Nobody who might want to take everything for himself?”
“Sorry. I know it’s difficult to figure out what’s happening here.”
“It is kind of an enigma,” he muses with a frown.
I seriously need to let go of my prejudices because I wouldn’t expect a man like him to use a word like that. He’s obviously much smarter than meets the eye, but then again, I’m sure people could look at my pink hair and make all kinds of assumptions about me, too. They could also find out my parents are rich and assume I’m lazy and sponge off them.
“Can I ask you something? Since we’re talking about work. What do you usually do? You haven’t told me much about yourself.”
It’s invisible, but I feel it anyway. The wall that goes up between us. “I’m sort of a freelancer.”
“What kind of work? Writing? Editing, designing?”
“Nothing to do with the arts or anything like that.”
I’m not loving the way he’s sidestepping the question. “Do you, like, work as a bouncer or security or something? No offense, but it would make sense.”
“Something like that.” I’m ready to ask exactly what that means when he leans over and kisses me. He tastes like coffee and cream cheese and safety. It’s pretty clear he’s trying to distract me—I don’t mind very much, though, since the man knows how to kiss.
He pulls back with a little grin before turning toward the fridge. “Do you have any plain milk in here?”
“Sure, help yourself.” Of course, I can’t help but watch as he bends over since who could resist? His body is mind-boggling.
It isn’t his tight ass or those ridiculously thick thighs that make my heart skip a beat, though. It’s the sight of a gun tucked into the back of his jeans, visible once his shirt shifts when he moves.
My eyes are wide when he turns around.
“What?” he asks with a frown.
“You’re carrying a gun?”
