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I take hers, just as hesitant, “Nice to meet you.”
My words are quiet, but she must hear me because she replies, “You too.”
Stepping back, I return my grip to the pan, wanting the comfort of hiding behind it, but the action draws attention to me.
Me. Not wearing a bra, in one of Axel’s giant shirts so it looks like I’m not wearing anything else, socks up to my knees, hair like I’ve spent the night fucking…could this get any more embarrassing?
“Whatcha makin?” Cat asks, pulling out one of the stools tucked into the counter.
“Oh, um,” I look down at the mess of ingredients like I need a reminder, “an omelet.” I worry my lip, “Want one?”
She nods, “Yes, please! I’m starving!”
“Me too,” Brian drags out his own seat. “If you don’t mind.”
Of course I mind!
I don’t want to be here!
I want to be anywhere but here!
I’m tempted to scream for Axel, wanting him with me as a buffer, but there’s no way to do that without looking like a complete wuss. And I don’t know if he’d be okay with Brian bringing a girl home. We haven’t really talked about that sorta stuff, and I’d hate for him to come down and get all mad. Cat seems sweet, and honestly, it’s better that she’s here. Being alone with Brian would make this a million times worse.
“Of course not!” my voice comes out way too high, and I quickly busy myself by turning back to the stove and setting down my emotional support pan.
Except without the pan my boobs are going to be on display. I don’t care if the shirt is dark. It’s going to be obvious that I’m free boobing it and that’s… that’s not good.
Ohmygod, this is the worst!
With my back still to them, I take a slow breath and think.
Arms crossed over my chest, I spin around. “One sec.”
I hurry around the island, past the dining table, and over to the giant sectional couch in the living room to where Axel had one of his work sweatshirts draped over the ottoman. Thanking my lucky stars that I remembered seeing it earlier in the evening.
I yank it over my head, aware it comes to the middle of my thighs, so I still look bottom-less, but it’s thick and baggy so it camouflages my unrestrained chest.
“Sorry,” I apologize, “I was cold.”
My cheeks heat on the lie. I didn’t need to justify myself, I know I didn’t, but I apparently can’t help it.
Brian snorts, “I get it. Dad likes to keep the house freezing.”
Dad.
To keep myself from cringing I let out a strange sounding laugh, then press my lips together.
Cat reaches across the counter and snags one of the cherry tomatoes, “Want help with anything?”
“Oh, no thanks. You guys okay with all this?” I gesture to the pile of stuff.
When they both nod, I get to work.
Thankfully Cat immediately starts in a story about a girl – that I deduce is her roommate, and I have to admit I find myself entertained by the drama.
Brian makes sounds of understanding, chiming in enough to show he’s listening, and before long I feel semi-comfortable.
It helps that I just pretend I’m at BeanBag, making lattes for customers instead of omelets for my boyfriend’s son and hisfriend.
