Page 71 of Text Appeal

“No, thank you,” I say primly. “And get that look off your face.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pours me a cup of coffee and sets the mug in front of me. Along with sugar and creamer, of course. “For you.”

“Thanks.”

The way his lips twitch. He is absolutely biting back a smile. What a jerk. “You kept telling me harder.”

“I know I did.”

“You were kind of insistent about it, if I remember correctly.” He scratches at the stubble lining his stupid handsome jaw. “Should I ignore you when you say that next time? When you ask me to go harder? For your own sake…”

“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time.”

His brows draw together as if he’s thinking deep thoughts. “Thoughbegis probably more accurate thanask.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Beg?”

“Would you prefer plead?”

“You’re an asshole and it’s too early for this level of trolling. Come back after I’ve had my first coffee.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with all due seriousness. “I am an asshole. But I am a very happy one, if that counts for anything.”

I shake my head and do not smile. Or at least, not much. “The scratches on your back really bring out the color in your eyes.”

“Funny,” he says. “I was just thinking how pretty the bruise is that I left on your breast. Though the one on your ass cheek isn’t bad either.”

I snort and sip my coffee. “Do they match the ones on your poor face?”

“We do match. That’s a cute couple thing, right?” He grabs one of the waiting bowls and carefully serves a heaping spoonful of whatever he’s been cooking. The bowl, along with silverware, is placed in front of me. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“I am. Wow. What is this?”

“It’s just a hash of bacon, sweet potato, peppers, onion, kale, zucchini, and fried eggs.”

“Thank you,” I say, picking up a fork. “That’s a lot of vegetables.”

He returns to the stove to serve himself. “I figure you’re going to need them to keep up with me. Stamina is important. I assume no hot sauce for you?”

“You assume correctly.” I spear a cube of sweet potato with my fork. It comes attached with a piece of kale. Not something that features anywhere on my list of top thousand things to eat. But there’s no way I’m insulting Connor after he went to the trouble of cooking for me.

“You can do it,” he whispers. “I believe in you.”

“Connor…”

“God, look at you, being so brave. It brings a tear to my eye, it truly does.”

I laugh and put the food in my mouth. The food is perfectly cooked and seasoned with garlic and lime. It is fucking delicious. “You’re a good cook.”

“Thank you.” He sets down his fork and picks up his cell. “Do that again. I’m going to take a picture. It feels like an important occasion.”

“You don’t think maybe you’re blowing this out of proportion?”

“Not a chance.”

“Sheesh. What’s with all the laughing and talking, Connor. I thought you were supposed to be surly and quiet.”

His smile wavers. “You want me to be quiet?”

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