Page 41 of Something Borrowed, Something You

My eyes widened. “That’s my favorite breakfast in the world.”

“I know. Bella told me.”

“You called my mother to ask her what I liked for breakfast?”

“No. She called me last night to invite me for dinner on Sunday, and I mentioned we were going to Izzy’s game. She might have suggested I pick up breakfast on my way and told me what you liked.”

I spoke under my breath. “Of course she did.”

Hunter smiled. “Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”

It would’ve been stupid to let a perfectly good breakfast go to waste as a form of protest against my mother and Hunter’s newfound friendship. So I sat down and dug into the awesomeness.

I hadn’t realized I’d been quiet for so long while I shoveled oatmeal into my mouth until I caught Hunter’s lip twitching while he watched me.

“What?”

“I take it you really do like this stuff?”

I spoke with a full mouth. “It’s better than sex.”

“Then you haven’t been fucked properly.”

Mid-swallow, I choked on the oatmeal, sputtering and gasping.

Hunter dropped his spoon and looked like he was about to dive across the table to deliver the Heimlich.

I put a hand up to stop him and spoke with strain. “I’m fine. Water.”

He grabbed a glass and filled it while I worked to catch my breath. My throat burned as I downed the water.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I patted my chest as everything finally made its way down the right pipe. “I’m fine.”

Hunter sat back down. “You shouldn’t try to talk while swallowing.”

“You shouldn’t say inappropriate things.”

“You started it. Answering the door with your nipples all perky, smelling so fucking good, talking about sex. I think you’re the one who’s inappropriate here.”

My eyes bulged. “You showed up half an hour early, so I’d just gotten out of the shower, and my nipples were still hard as a result. That smell you like so much? It’s called soap. And I wasn’t talking about sex. I made a statement that was a metaphor to describe how much I like the oatmeal.”

Hunter scooped a heaping spoonful of oatmeal from his container and spoke before shoveling it into his mouth. “The only thing I heard from that explanation was nipples and sex.”

“How was your date the other night?” Hunter side-glanced at me before returning his eyes to the road. We were sitting in traffic on the bridge on our way upstate for the game.

“It was wonderful.”

He chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re a shit liar.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not a liar.”

“You pick imaginary lint off of your clothes when you lie. You just did it when you said your date was wonderful.”

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