Page 65 of A Win-Win Situation

It was a dream . . . and it felt so real.

I can still feel his touch on my skin, his breath on my neck, and his finger on my?—

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory, but it lingers.

Did I really just have a sex dream about Lucas?

I bury my face in my hands, trying to shake off the feeling. It was just a dream, nothing more. It’s okay to have dreams like that; especially when you live with a man that looks like Lucas. I’m just feeling a little bit frustrated and lonely. But it doesn’t mean anything.

I really need to get myself a toy or something, because if I have more of these dreams, I’ll probably be the one pounding on his door in the middle of the night, begging him to take the edge off.

We can’t have that.

I get up and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles from the tension of the dream. I make my way to the bathroom and splash some water on my face, trying to shake off the last remnants of the dream before I take a cold shower.

When I emerge from my room dressed in black slacks, a blouse, and my new favorite black Manolo's, a pleasant scent of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air, making me feel at ease. As I walk toward the kitchen, I'm momentarily stunned by the sight of Lucas—shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, and with damp hair from his morning shower.

Did he take one because he usually showers in the morning? Or because heneededone in the same way I did?

My gaze shifts to his back again. I notice the way his muscles ripple as he moves around the kitchen, expertly flipping a slice of French toast in the pan. When he reaches up to grab a plate from the cabinet, his back muscles contract and flex, drawing my attention to the defined lines running down his spine. His shoulder blades protrude slightly, adding to the aesthetic appeal of his toned physique. He must work out a lot because there’s muscleonthe muscles. He leans over slightly for something onthe counter and I can't help but sneak a peek at his ass, which looks firm and perfectly shaped in those gray sweatpants. The way he moves is almost hypnotic—I’m both drawn to him and a little lightheaded.

This show is exactly the opposite of what I needed this morning. I need him to dress in very oversized clothes, preferably all day, every day.

I clear my throat to announce my presence, and he turns around, a smirk forming on his lips as he takes in my outfit.

"Good morning," he says, his voice sweet. "Are you ready for your first day at work?" He’s genuinely trying to act friendly, but I can’t focus. It's taking a lot of energy not to blatantly stare at his tattooed chest. He has a full sleeve that continues on to his chest. Every single one of his tattoos is a work of art. There's a beautiful rosary that wraps around his arm, mirroring the one in his car. However, the one that grabs my attention the most is on his pectoral. Two doves are nestled closely together, with the number nineteen ninety-five elegantly written underneath.

A blush creeps up my neck, and I avert my gaze, trying to focus on something else. "Is that French toast I smell?" I ask, attempting to change the subject.

He nods, grabbing the plate he just brought down and expertly placing a stack of golden-brown slices on it. "Yes, I thought I'd surprise you with breakfast."

I can't help but smile at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Lucas. That's very sweet of you."

He hands me the plate and I take a seat at the kitchen island. I take a bite and, my God, it’s heavenly. I close my eyes, savoring the aroma and the delicious taste of the French toast. Lucas places a cup of coffee in front of me on the island before he sits down across from me, his own cup of coffee in hand as he scrolls through his phone.

As I continue to eat, I find myself stealing glances at Lucas, and every time he catches me, my heart beats a little faster. He gives me a playful smirk, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. We continue to exchange furtive glances until Lucas looks up from his phone and our eyes meet again. This time, we hold each other’s gaze a little longer, and the tension between us grows. It's as if we are both searching for something in each other's eyes, something we both seem to be yearning for.

"Did you like it?" he asks me, and I look down at my plate. It’s empty; there's not a single crumb left.

"Yes, it was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"My aunt," he says and then adds, "Antoine’s wife."

I perk up at that. I would love to meet Antoine’s wife.

"She passed away a few years ago." A shadow darkens his expression as he shares the news of her passing. Immediately, I feel terrible. Why did I have to ask? He already told me he liked to cook before—I could have kept it at that instead of prying further.

"I'm sorry to hear that. May she rest in peace," I offer.

"Thank you," he replies.

I pick up the cup of coffee he made me, and as I smell it, I realize it’s a cappuccino, my favorite. Bringing it to my lips, I take a sip, savoring the perfect balance of espresso and frothed milk before letting out a satisfied sigh.

"This tastes amazing, Lucas. Thank you."

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're welcome."

As I take another sip, enjoying the warmth spreading through my body, I notice Lucas's gaze on me. "What?" I ask him.

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