Page 33 of Covetous

“Are you hungry?”

“I mean…I could eat.”

He flashes me a brilliant smile that shows off his straight white teeth. “Me too.” He sets his coffee down and gets to work, pulling bacon, eggs, and vegetables from his fridge.

“I can’t cook. Not very well, at least.” I hop down from my stool with our cups of coffee and walk around the island to stand in front of all the ingredients he’s assembled while he grabs a couple of mixing bowls and a cutting board from his cabinets.

“You like omelets?” He joins me at the counter with a knife and expertly begins chopping the vegetables.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll make us some.” He winks the sexiest wink of all winks. Dear God.

“You cook?”

A chuckle escapes him, rich and warm. “Yes, I cook. My mom taught us.”

Apologetic yet genuinely impressed, I reply, “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound so shocked. Esme’s a lucky girl.”

He gives a noncommittal hum, his attention absorbed by the rhythmic dance of the knife against the chopping board.

“We shouldn’t have been in your room last night, and I definitely shouldn’t have been in your bed. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Skylar.”

Guilt gnaws at me, persistent and sharp. “No, it’s not. Esme would kill me if she knew.”

“Then she’d kill us both because I tucked you in.”

Say what now? “You did?”

“I tried to wake you, but you were out like a light. And you seemed cold, so I put you under the covers.”

The practicality and simplicity of his words take away some of the intimacy, easing my guilt a little. “You put me under the covers? How?”

He avoids my gaze, his eyes shifting to the safety of his task. Vegetables tumble into the bowl, a diversion from the conversation. “I had to lift you from the bed and hold you in my arms to pull the covers back.”

My eyes snap wide open, grappling with the hazy non-memory. “I—didn’t know that.”

“Like I said, you were out like a light.”

“Yeah.” I scratch at the tangled bird’s nest of a bun on top of my head. What did it feel like to be held in his arms? I dismiss the thought, grateful that I don’t remember.

“Summer or winter?” I ask, taking the last bite of my delicious omelet.

Victor slides me a water bottle across the island before taking his seat across from me again. “Depends.”

Accusingly, but with a playful smirk, I counter, “You’re cheating.”

His eyebrows lift in feigned innocence, the corners of his mouth fighting back a smile. “How am I cheating?”

Leaning in, I rest my elbows on the cool counter, fingers laced together under my chin, mirroring his playful challenge. “You’re supposed to answer the question with the first answer that pops into your head.”

“But I can’t answer that question without knowing the location. Summer in Texas? Fuck no. Summer in California, fuck yeah.”

“So you like California?” Would he move there with Esme if she asked?

He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now who’s breaking the rules? It’s my turn for a question, remember?”

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