Page 133 of Meet Me at the Metro

Water drips from her soaking wet, brown hair, streaming past her pretty collarbones and running along her freckled shoulders. I never tire of seeing her like this—so raw and natural.A sense of pride swells inside me to know I’m the only one who gets to appreciate her like this.

I set the plate on my bedroom dresser and fork up a bite of eggs, holding it out for her to taste. Mouth open wide, she happily accepts it, humming with delight as her lips close around the sample of breakfast to come.

“Good?”

“Very good,” she nods, licking her lips. “Did you put cheese in them?”

“Mhmm.”

She glances at the rest of the food piled atop the plate, eyes snagging on one of the items before her nose scrunches in disgust.

“What in the hell are baked beans doing on that plate, Theodore?”

“It’s breakfast. What do you mean?”

“Beans are not breakfast! That’s atrocious!”

“That claimis atrocious,” I argue, pulling her back with me toward the edge of the mattress as I plop down. “Have you ever tried beans for breakfast?”

“Absolutely not,” she counters, settling between my legs.

“Then don’t knock it before you try it. I bet you’ll love them.”

“I bet you’re wrong. You Brits are psychopaths.”

“And you Americans are insufferable.” I run my fingers along the back of her thighs, tracing thoughtful circles against the slick skin right below the towel hanging over her body.

She’s smirking as she looks down on me, her bright eyes giving away just how much she’s enjoying each stroke of my fingertips. “So insufferable that you just can’t keep your hands off them, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“And so insufferable you wake up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for them,hmm?”

“Mhmm.”

Nora smiles, and it’s so fucking gorgeous I could melt into this bed.

“Had to ensure my girl was fed before her big audition.”

“Always so thoughtful,” she coos, brushing a few strands of my ruffled, slept-in hair off my forehead.

“Only for you.”

“Are you, by chance, feeling extra thoughtful today?” She’s got a mischievous glint in her eyes that tells me she’s trying to push me to do something she already knows I’ll refuse.

“What?” I groan, hating how much her rosy—now pouty—lips are already stirring up their influence inside me.

“Don’t sound so annoyed.” She rolls her eyes and presses her knee between my legs challengingly. “You haven’t even heard my request.”

“I’m listening…”

“Well, since you’re feeling so thoughtful, I just thought that as like an early Christmas present, maybe you’d be willing to—”

“Christmas present,” I snort. “It’s the bloody middle of November.”

“I saidearlypresent!”

“Mhmm.”

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