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“Grilled cheese.”
She cocks a skeptical eyebrow. “For dinner?”
I nod, brushing close to her as I approach the refrigerator for some ingredients. “Breakfast for dinner grilled cheese, too. We’re really saying ‘fuck it’ to all the rules.”
Kennedy cracks a smile that makes me think she isn’t talking about grilled cheese. “Sounds on-brand for you.”
I tell her to grab the wheat bread out of the pantry and she does. When she comes back, she asks, “What do you need me to do?”
“You know how to make scrambled eggs?”
“Of course. I make pretty good ones, actually.”
My lips quirk. “I bet you do.”
Her lovely cheeks flush, but she pretends not to read into it.
Me, I’m not such a gentleman. As I bend down to grab her a skillet out of the bottom cupboard, I let her catch me looking at her legs on my way up.
She avoids my gaze and focuses harder than anyone needs to on untying the bread bag.
I come up behind her, feeling the heat from her body as I press closer than necessary to hand her the pan. “Here you go,” I murmur.
“Thank you,” she murmurs back, her tone a little uneven.
“Mm-hmm.” I reach for that long, thick mass of unruly hair and pull it back over her shoulder. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t try to move away. “When I pictured you making me eggs for the first time, I’ve gotta say, I never thought you’d be wearing all those clothes.”
Her breath catches, then rushes out of her. I wait for a response, but she doesn’t seem to have one. Instead, she drops the bread tie and opens the egg carton. “I need a fork,” she says without looking at me.
I grab her hip and pull her aside just enough so I can open the silverware drawer. Pulling one out, I murmur, “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs back.
Picking up where I left off before she tried to change the subject, I tell her, “I pictured you bare-assed while you cooked for me. Wearing one of my shirts and my scent all over your body, but nothing else. When you walk toward me with the plates and the fabric moves, I catch a glimpse of your pussy.” I meet her gaze. “Sure gives me an appetite, but not for eggs.”
Flicking a nervous glance in Jet’s direction and a frown of censure in mine, she says, “Could you not?”
I move even closer behind her, sliding my hands around her small waist and pressing a palm to her belly.
“I’m serious,” she says, stealing another glance toward Jet. His back is to us, but she’s too afraid of getting caught to properly enjoy it as my hand slides up toward her tit.
“Didn’t imagine you keeping that shirt on for very long.”
She grabs my roaming hand and pulls it off her, then does her best to crack an egg and pretend to be unaffected. “Let me go before someone sees.”
“Jet?” I question.
She doesn’t answer, but he’s the only one she could mean.
“You’re not seriously starting something with him, are you?”
“So what if I am?” she flings back, glaring at me over her shoulder.
“It’s a little fucked up, don’t you think?”
Her eyes widen. “Are you serious? You used to date mymom, so I’m pretty sure whoIdate is none of your business.”
“Everything you do is my business.”
