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It’s the aroma of coffee that wakes me in the morning.
I stretch and smile before burrowing a little deeper under the blankets. Griffin was quiet enough when he got out of bed that I had no idea he left. Now I hear him in the kitchen, whistling softly, mixing something before pulling a pan out. He’s making breakfast for me. Life has been worse.
What a shame all of this couldn’t have happened at a better time. My eyes open, and I stare out the window, partially covered by a lowered shade. It looks like a bright, sunny morning. Funny how the rest of the world can keep carrying on like normal when everything in my life seems to be falling apart.
Which one would I choose if I had to? If somebody put a gun to my head and forced me to pick between Dallas and Griffin, what would I say? I search my feelings, looking for an answer, but the only one that comes to mind is the one I know is the most challenging. Both. I don’t want to choose between them. It’s like there’s something missing in me, and the two of them put together are what completes me. They balance each other out. They balance me out. I would spend the rest of my life feeling like something was missing if I had to go without either of them.
But it’s ridiculous. There’s no way they would both go for it. They’re typical men, full of their own egos, pride, all of that. Add on top of that their backgrounds, how fierce and tough they are, and what would have been uncomfortable on a good day turns into a disaster. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with them in a constant competition to see who could make me happier.
Though maybe it wouldn’t be so bad in bed, giving them a little competition to keep them on their toes. The idea leaves me biting my lip. Okay, so there are upsides to the arrangement.
What am I thinking? I have no business thinking about either of them that way when the fact is, I’m keeping secrets from them. There’s something between us even bigger and more powerful than my brother. The timing is all wrong, plain and simple. One of life’s little jokes.
Getting up from the bed I move to the bathroom. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I frown. I don’t know what I was thinking last night, going to sleep with wet hair. It’s an absolute mess this morning. But I was tired, and holding a brush and a hairdryer at the same time probably wouldn’t be possible right now with my wrist like it is. I have to settle for brushing it and pulling it into a ponytail before heading out to the kitchen.
“Good morning.” Griffin pulled on his jeans this morning but stopped there. I can’t say I’m upset. I don’t think he’s ever been sexier than he is now, cooking with his waistband hanging low on his hips, teasing me whenever I get a glimpse of his happy trail. Like when he turns my way, gesturing to the coffeemaker. “There’s coffee for you if you want.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.” I pour a cup, and the aroma instantly perks me up before I’ve taken a sip.
“I figured I’d make omelets.” There are vegetables sautéeing in the frying pan, and I watch as he pours eggs on top. “How did you sleep?”
“Like the dead.”
“Same here.” It’s only another minute or two before he carries two plates to the table. Mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, plus a generous sprinkling of cheddar cheese on top.
“If you ever decide to change careers, you should think about becoming a personal chef.” I look him up and down, smirking before cutting off another bite of the omelet. “You should always work shirtless. Make a lot more money.”
“It’s not even eight in the morning, and I’m getting sexually harassed.”
“You don’t have to be here.” He only inclines his head like he gets the point. We share a smile before going back to our food. It really is delicious.
It’s a good thing he got up as early as he did and took the initiative, since we’ve barely finished our last bites when our phones vibrate in unison.
“Great. I was really hoping I could see my brother first thing this morning.” I lean back in my chair, groaning at Mason’s group text. “I’m sure he’ll be in a great mood.”
“It’ll be fine,” Griffin assures me as he picks up the plates. “I’ll be there.”
It does make me feel better hearing him say that, but I’m not naïve enough to think it will solve everything. Mason is still Mason, and he’s still a pain in the ass. I go through the motions of getting changed. I’m not about to dress up in my full glory for his sake, and by the time I’m finished, Griffin is fully dressed again.
