Page 68 of Married to the Frenemy

“Whatever.” I hurry out of the room, Beckham’s sexy chuckles following me every step of the way.

I definitely was thinking it.

But I’ll never admit it.

“Hi, Mama,” Maggie says sweetly when I walk into the kitchen.

She’s already snuggled up on the couch beside Monte, a coloring book in front of her.

“Hey, sweetie.” I walk toward her and kiss the top of her head. Monte looks up at me expectantly, and I give his head a scratch, as well. “What would you like for breakfast?”

The instant I utter that word, Monte jumps off the couch, barking excitedly.

“Not you,” I tell him. “It’s not your time yet.” I turn my attention back to Maggie. “Want some pancakes?”

“Yes, please.”

“You got it.” I place another kiss on her head, then busy myself with making her breakfast.

As I mix up the batter, Beckham slips into the kitchen and it takes everything in me to subdue my racing heart.

Has he always looked this sexy in the morning? Probably. But today, in his pajama bottoms, white t-shirt that clings to his muscles, revealing his tattooed arms, and disheveled dark hair, he looks good enough to eat.

And I was lucky enough to be treated to a meal of him last night.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“Sure,” I respond quickly, uncertain how to act now that we’re out of the bedroom.

He walks past me as I finish mixing the batter, the two of us moving around the kitchen like it’s a normal day.

Like we didn’t spend all night having sex in a variety of different positions.

“Should we talk about it?” Beckham asks in a soft voice, handing me my mug.

“Do we have to?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “You’re the one who had me sign a contract so we could manage expectations. That’s all I’m trying to do. Manage expectations. We crossed a line last night. I want to know if we should move the line accordingly or keep it where it was.”

“I know. I just…” I push out a long sigh, so many conflicted thoughts and emotions filling me.

“Answer me this,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips. The lips that gave me more pleasure than I thought possible last night. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

My cheeks flame as I pour some batter onto the griddle. “Without a doubt.”

“Me, too.” He sets his coffee on the counter and steps closer. “Would you like to do it again?”

“Would you?”

“I asked you first.”

“What are you? Five?”

“Simply stating the facts, Haley. So tell me. And don’t stand there and try to think about what I want to hear or what you should say. Give me an honest answer.”

Sometimes I hate how well he knows me. How clearly he still sees me, even all these years later.

He touches my chin, forcing my eyes toward his as he repeats, “Do you want to do it again?”

---