“Sure did,” she states frankly, pushing past me to get into the house.
“But why? It’s freezing out.”
“Because I couldn’t sleep and needed to burn off some steam.” Gesturing to my bare chest, she adds, “And can you put some clothes on for fuck’s sake?”
I look around the house, as if I don’t know where I am. “Last time I checked this is my house and you’re the one who came over uninvited and rudely woke me up.” Then I throw her the cockiest damn smile I have in me. “Why? Does me being shirtless make you uncomfortable for some reason?”
She rolls her eyes, not impressed in the slightest. “It’s not the lack of shirt that’s making me uncomfortable. It’s your giant boner pointing right at me.”
I glance down, and see she’s right. I’m not only shirtless, but my inconveniently timed morning wood is jutting through my black sweatpants. “Fuck.” I grab a throw pillow from the couch and block my pelvis. “That’s not because of you by the way. Morning wood…” Who am I kidding, it’s absolutely caused by her.
“Ah, I see. You’re an early riser.”
“Did you just make a morning wood joke? Where’s the Layla I thought I knew?”
With a happy gleam to her eyes, she replies, “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“Tell me what I don’t know then.”
She walks away into the kitchen and shouts over her shoulder, “I need something in my stomach first.”
I hear the cabinet doors slamming shut as she rummages through them in search of food, coffee, or a weapon to kill me with. While she’s out of the room, I tuck my boner into the waistband of my pants, because her skin-tight leggings are not helping the situation. Grabbing a shirt from the pile I folded last night, I walk over to see what she’s doing since it has become completely silent. I find her with the stainless steel fridge doors wide open, staring inside with an intensity like she’s never seen food before.
“Why are you standing there staring at my fridge like that, weirdo?” I ask.
“It could be because I’ve just learned that you’re aningredientsonlyhousehold. That’s some psycho shit.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t have pre-made food—only ingredients. Raw eggs. Fruit. Vegetables. Flour and oil. What am I supposed to do with that? Where are the bagels or frozen waffles?”
“If I want waffles, I make them. It’s not that difficult.”
She crosses her arms. “It’s difficult if you don’t know how to cook more than cereal.”
“Excuse me? Do you not know how to cook?”
“Don’t act so surprised. I’ve never had time to learn how to between trying to survive law school and then getting thrown into working sixty hour weeks.”
“Sit down. I’ll make you breakfast.”
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she waves me off and begins to scroll. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just have food delivered here.”
I snatch her phone. “I’m making you food. If there’s one thing firefighters are good at, it’s cooking.”
Springing to her feet, she makes a grab for her device. “Shouldn’t firefighters excel at, I don’t know, extinguishing fires or rescuing people?”
I hold it out of reach above my head, acting like an immature teenager. “That goes without saying. But we take our food seriously too.”
“Give me that back,” she demands, reaching up for it.
“After you promise not to order food. Let me cook for you, damn it.”
“You will do no such thing, Benny.” She says that damn childhood nickname like it’s a challenge, knowing I hate it. She hops on me, legs circling around my waist, as she makes another grab for her phone.
I hold her up by the ass, burying my nose into her hair as I whisper, “What’d I say about the next time you called me that?”
“I’m not scared of threats. I’d like to see you try to do anything to me.”