Page 56 of Designed for Disaster

“Apparently I’m starving.”

He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made me break into laughter. “Probably should have provided you with sustenance.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t withered away,” I teased. “You worked me pretty hard last night.”

“I know.” He kissed my shoulder. “Should we get breakfast?”

I tucked his impossibly soft sheets up around us. “You’re not going to nip out to your fancy kitchen and whip me up a breakfast buffet?”

Trent glared at me playfully and rolled me onto his chest. I stayed there, running my fingertips along his jaw, and he took the opening to let his hand roam down my back, gently squeezing the curve of my ass. “I’d really prefer not to scare you away with my cooking.”

“You can’t be that bad in the kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m horrible,” he conceded. “I mean, I’ve survived all these years on my own. But I think there’s a difference between slapping together a sandwich and providing you with a real meal after all that work you did.”

I smirked. “Iwasdoing a lot of work. I was practically carrying this team.”

“Carrying the team?” Trent snorted. “Sure you were.”

I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, feigning exhaustion. “I was basically working for two all night.”

Trent tightened his hold on me, and I laughed. “I think I also put in some serious effort.” His lips tugged at my ear. “I don’tremember hearing you complaining much last night. It was a lot of ‘Trent, oh god, mm-hmm, right there, just like that.’”

I knew he was teasing me, but damn if those breathy words repeated in my ear didn’t start an ache throbbing between my legs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, back to food,” I said, shoving my curls out of the way. I didn’t even want to think of what a mess my hair must be after last night. It was going straight into a bun if I could find an elastic around this place.

“Back to food,” Trent agreed. “I’d really prefer to take you out for a nice breakfast. So I can be sure you’re eating something you actually want.”

“I could probably be convinced to leave this bed.”

He pressed a kiss to my cheek and sat up. “Good.”

“I’m gonna need a favor though.”

His eyebrow arched, curious.

“I’m not wearing that dress out to breakfast.”

“Ah, that’s fair.” Trent climbed out of bed, and I admired the long, toned expanse of muscle that rippled in the lingering shadow in the room. “I think I can come up with something.”

A half hour later, we walked down the sidewalk in the Village, hand in hand. The crisp October morning left the air smelling of fallen leaves. I was obsessed with it. For some reason, autumnalways reminded me of solidly built furniture, and I wanted to snuggle up in a room that smelled of red cedar or sandalwood or pine.

“What are you craving?” Trent asked.

I hummed, squeezing his hand. “An oat milk latte and a lot of carbs.”

“I can get on board with the carbs.”

I tugged at the drawstring at my waist, tightening it. Trent had managed to scrounge up some sweats for me in his insanely large walk-in closet. They were too big, but I’d managed by rolling the waistband so they didn’t drag. Even if I was swimming in them, they were still a better alternative than the dress. The last thing I wanted was to strut through the Village in a slinky fuck-me outfit. Shoes had been harder to sort out, but Trent had found an old pair of tennis shoes that Dee had left at his place, and we’d made it work well enough to venture out for breakfast.

I couldn’t stop smiling as Trent’s fingers wove through mine. “So, where are we going?”

“Um…” He glanced down at his phone, clearly trying to follow the directions. “I think there’s a breakfast spot this way.” He looked up. “Wait. We’re on the wrong side of the street.”

We darted across between the traffic. “What do you mean youthink?” I laughed. “Don’t you know where the good breakfast spots are in your neighborhood?”

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