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“You do. But if you put that in the house, I’m going to throw it out, so ask yourself how much you want that scale because you’ll have to buy it again and again.”
I momentarily considered throwing the chicken at him. Instead, I took a long breath. “My feet held up tonight. Maybe we could run tomorrow.”
I didn’t exercise enough. The sad truth was I could eat more if I took the time to work out. And if he thought I wasn’t going to go into his bathroom just as much as I fucking wanted to in order to use his scale, he had another think coming. I absolutely would. In fact, I might go in there and weigh myself ten times as much as I usually would just for the sheer fact of pissing him off.
I smirked. That was a whole side of my personality I hadn’t experienced lately. A little bit obstinate…
“I’ll wake you when I get up and we can run.”
I nodded. “Sounds good, but I might already be up.”
I cooked in silence, but it didn’t feel strained. Instead, I was fully aware of his eyes on me and not in the way I was when others were viewing my every move. It wasn’t the creepy ants crawling on my neck. No, it was warm, like he stroked me with his gaze. Still, when I turned around, he was quiet and remote as though that hadn’t happened.
Our late dinner done, I served us and dug in when he did. I’d done a good job. The chicken wasn’t dry, and although it was simple and not anything special, I liked eating it. Most of the time when I prepared a meal, it was just for me.
He rose after a moment and poured us both a glass of red wine from a bottle he’d had corked in the fridge. I took a sip, and he lifted his eyebrow. “Like that one?”
“It’s robust.” That seemed the right word. “Yes, I like it.”
“That’s one I might buy. That vineyard. We’ll see.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I have to work tomorrow. My day starts around noon here and goes late.”
That made sense with the time changes. “That’s how you go to that café every morning. You start later.”
“Yep.” He took another long sip. “And we’ll start to work on what-will-Layla-do-with-her-life tomorrow, too.”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes, and he laughed, throwing his head back. I loved the sound and the way he did that so easily. Thiswas the real Zeke. Not the way he’d been with Luc. That was a show.
He grabbed my plate when I was done and put it with his in the sink. I guessed it would sit there until morning. I finished my wine which made my head feel heavy. It was late, and the wine had made me warm.
But I wasn’t sleepy.
We walked together upstairs, and I paused outside of the room. “Does the television work in my room?”
“It should. Why? Did it not?” He strode toward me and opened my door before entering. At that point, he discovered what I had when I looked for it during the time I got dressed earlier. There was no remote anywhere I could find, and the TV didn’t easily turn on.
He sighed, loudly. “I pay them a lot of money to not have this problem. It’ll be fixed tomorrow. It’s just an oversight. Come on, you can watch TV in my room.” Like he’d simply solved the problem, he strode down the hallway back to his own suites.
I blinked. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not. I can’t sleep yet either. Wound up. Get changed and come in. You can pick what we watch.”
It was very easy to follow his directions, and I decided not to question why that was. I changed into my pajamas, which were a small pair of boy shorts and a white tank top, and went into his bedroom. The remote was on his bed, displayed obviously in the center. Which side was I supposed to sit on?
Zeke exited the bathroom, shirtless and in dark pajama pants. Once again, I couldn’t seem to help but stare at just how buff he was. My cheeks heated up. I’d been up against him on the dance floor. What was wrong with me now that I’d suddenly reverted to being utterly stunned at the sight of him shirtless?
He sat down on the left side and patted the right. Both of us sat on top of his comforter. Did he just want me to put the TV on? “I can totally go back to my room. This is your private time.”
“Layla. I told you it was fine, so it’s fine. End of story.” He handed me the remote. “Whatever you want to watch, put it on.”
I flipped through streaming services until I landed onStar Trek. It was a secret I didn’t often discuss, but I was absolutely a huge science fiction fan. One of my nannies had shared her love of it with me when I was about nine years old.
I’d been hooked ever since.
“Picard or Kirk?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I grinned. “Could be Janeway or Sisko, right? Or Archer.”
He shook his head. “I’ll ask it again. Picard or Kirk?”
