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“Tell me you’re not detailing last night in there,” I say, only half kidding. He turns, his eyes hazy like he was in deep concentration.
“Morning, Kitty Cat.” His lopsided smile causes my heart to flutter.
“I’m going to slip into the restroom. Brush my teeth one more time.” I point at the adjacent doorway. “Then I’ll be back for coffee if you’ve got it?”
“I’ve got it,” he says.
I make quick work of my morning routine and then return to the kitchen to find Barrett pulling a full mug of coffee from beneath a one-cup coffee maker. He hands it over as I sit on a high-top stool. His laptop is open, a Word doc cued up. Before I can start reading, the lid snaps shut.
“Cream.” He sets the half-and-half container next to my mug.
“You still won’t let me read it?”
“Nope.” He hands me a spoon. “Breakfast? I make a mean omelet.”
At the mention of eggs, my stomach does a somersault. I rest my forehead on my hand and blow out a tortured breath. He rubs circles on my back, reminding me of my clinging to the toilet like a barnacle.
“I’m so sorry about last night,” I say as he takes the stool next to mine.
“Me, too. Missed the chance to get laid.”
“Don’t joke.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He reaches for the seat of my stool and pulls me forward until our knees touch. “You forgot to kiss me good morning.”
He doesn’t give me time to argue—not that I would have—and lights me up with a slow kiss.
“Mmm,” he hums. “You taste good. Now I want coffee.” He takes a drink from my mug. “Ick. Tastes girly.”
“Why do you have half-and-half if you drink black coffee?”
“To make the omelet I told you about.”
“Maybe I’ll eat tomorrow morning.”
He chuckles at my plight. “You’ll be okay. Just a touch of cocktail flu.”
“Well, I have to attend a cocktail party for the Dispatch tonight, so my ‘flu’ had better not last past the afternoon.”
“We,” he corrects.
“Right. We. Wear a tux if ya got one.”
“I got one.” He winks, purposely teasing me about my bad grammar. My gaze lingers on the contoured shape of his lips, but I sip my coffee instead of leaning in to taste his mouth again.
“Did you... Where did you sleep?”
“Next to you.” He shrugs. “You asked me to.”
Oh, right. That I do remember, though it took him mentioning it to call it up. I take another sip of coffee. “I should go. I have a lot to do today.”
“Nope.”
“Um. Yes. I do.” I rub my forehead and try to remember what’s on my list of to-dos, but my brain feels like a smashed watermelon. “I think.”
“You’re going to spend the day with me, and then I’ll bring my stuff to your place, and we’ll change for the party. Eventually I’ll get some food into you, even if it’s dry toast.”
“I can’t spend the day here.”
