Page 34 of Pretending I'm Yours

“See, sexisdangerous,” I mutter as I scramble into my clothes from last night—jeans, sweater, but no bra because I can’t find it immediately, and I refuse to make Pudge wait a second longer than necessary for his breakfast. “One night with a penis, and you’ve become a deadbeat cat parent.”

I hurry down the steep staircase, nearly tripping over my own feet as I move faster than my recently awakened muscles are prepared for, only to stop dead at the base of the stairs.

I expected to find Pudge sprawled on his back in front of the fridge, dramatically playing dead the way he does when I work late and don’t get back to feed him until seven. Instead, my big orange love is happily munching from a ceramic bowl on the floor, decorated with tiny blue paws around the edge. Next to it sits a matching water dish.

And there, at the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but a pair of gray-and-white striped pajama pants and looking unfairly delicious for a man with his hair sticking up in ten different directions, Anthony is cracking eggs into a small white bowl.

When he sees me, his face lights up, banishing any concern that he won’t be as happy to see me as I am to see him. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he murmurs. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” I mumble as I amble across the room, magic fizzing through my veins all over again, just because he’s there, smiling at me like he means it. I am in so much trouble, but I can’t bring myself to worry about drowning in the deep end of the emotion pool when he’s looking at me like that.

“Great, actually,” I add. “Your bed is so comfortable. I think I could…” I trail off as I get close enough to see the chunky, fancy-looking food in Pudge’s bowl. “That isn’t the canned food I brought.”

“I didn’t want to go through your things,” he says, whisking the eggs with a fork. “And the pet store is only two blocks away.”

My brows shoot up. “You went to the pet store?”

“Of course not, woman,” he says with a playful scoff. “What do you take me for? A barbarian? I ordered groceries and pet food delivered, like a civilized human being.” He sets his fork in the sink before crossing to me. “The better not to leave my sexy houseguest alone and unguarded.”

“Unguarded?” I murmur, melting into his strong arms as he draws me close. “Your neighborhood doesn’t seem dangerous.”

“It’s not, but still,” he says, giving my ass a squeeze as he kisses the top of my head. “Better safe than sorry. Especially when I have such a delicious woman naked in my bed.” He pulls back, arching a brow. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” I say, a shy smile creeping across my face. “A little sore, but…good sore.”

“Good,” he says, warmth in his voice. “I dreamt about you last night.”

I bite my lip. “Yeah? A good dream, I hope.”

“Very good,” he says, a wicked light in his eyes. “I had you tied to my bed with silk scarves, while I did bad things to you with my tongue.”

I shiver and my sore places begin to ache for him all over again. That’s all it takes, apparently. One word from this sexy man, and I’m ready and willing. “Doesn’t sound bad to me,” I whisper. “It actually sounds…intriguing.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He leans down, his lips angling for mine, but I turn my head at the last second.

“I can’t,” I demure, bringing a hand to hover over my mouth. “I have to brush my teeth first.”

“Never,” he teases, his fingers dancing up and down my ribs as I try to pull away, making me laugh. “I love morning breath kisses. They’re my favorite. The funkier the better.”

“Not happening, mister,” I say, pinching his bare stomach playfully before twisting away and hurrying toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll send you money for the cat food and groceries while we eat. Do you have the Pay Your Friends app?”

“Don’t worry about it, my treat,” he says, waving a breezy hand as he returns to his bowl of eggs. “I’m making veggie omelets by the way. I’ve already sautéed the onions, peppers, and sweet potatoes, all I have to do is mix in the egg. But I wanted to wait until you woke up to see if you like goat cheese.”

“I love goat cheese.” I pause in the doorway to the bathroom, soaking in the domestic scene as Pudge finishes his meal and moves to wind around Anthony’s legs, already begging for more food.

“Then goat cheese you shall have,” he says, carefully toeing Pudge out of the way as he turns to the stove, treating me to a stunning view of his muscled shoulders.

Idolove goat cheese.

I could learn to love mornings like this, too.

At sleepovers with my friends, I’m always the first person up, the one who preps breakfast and has coffee waiting long before the others roll out of bed. I enjoy being the caretaker, but I confess having the shoe on the other foot is nice.

Especially when the person pampering me with food and delicious-smelling coffee in a glass carafe looks as good cooking half-naked as Anthony does.

Thinking about how little fat I was able to pinch on his washboard abs, I dart into the bathroom to brush my teeth, surprised by the rosy-cheeked girl in the mirror. My hair is a mess, but my lips and cheeks are pink from a hint of whisker burn, and my eyes are shining like I have the best secret ever.

And, maybe I do.

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