Page 22 of Don't Fall

He stops glaring and starts moving. “I’m going to assume that’s a joke.”

“You totally can. As long as you keep in mind that assuming is resulting in accepting false information as completely accurate.” I hand Drea her cup of coffee and then mosey back to the kitchen where Lane is busy slicing a bagel in half.

He notices me watching and looks up. “You want one?”

“Okay.” I pretty much want one of whatever he’s offering.

“Toasted?”

“Yes, please.”

His chin juts out in Drea’s direction as he reaches for the bag and gets out another bagel. “Same for Drunky?”

She laughs before she realizes he’s talking about her. “Hey!” Then she gets up on her knees and turns on the couch to face us over the back. “I’m going to let that slide since you’re making me breakfast. And I like toasted. Crunchy toasted. With cream cheese. And chives if you have.”

Lane stares at me in disbelief.

I shrug. “Her boyfriend does most of the cooking at the firehouse...and for them. She’s a little spoiled in that department.” I lean over the counter and whisper, “I don’t like crunchy. And I like jam on my cream cheese.”

“You’re used to him cooking for you, too, aren’t you?”

I nod. “Yeah, kinda.”

Lane drops his chin to his chest and pretends to focus on making our custom order bagels, but I can see his smirk and it instantly sets off a butterfly spitting sprinkler in my stomach. Just non-stop butterflies spraying against my insides. It stirs up an odd sensation which spurs the desire to vomit as well as burst into song. Deciding that neither is preferable for the time being, I opt to take a seat at the breakfast bar and wait until the sprinkler shuts off and the butterflies all die. Except, sitting here, watching him, seeing his muscles move under the exceptionally well fitted dress shirt he’s wearing is not helping. Nor is the inexplicably sexy way in which he prepares a bagel.

When he turns away to retrieve things from the fridge, I fully expect to get a reprieve from the hot flashes steaming my insides. And they might ease up, if I could avoid dropping my gaze down to his ass, but I can’t. I also can’t help but notice that today there are no pleated khakis. Today there are charcoal colored trousers which hug his perfect ass in a way no pair of trousers should ever be able to.

I gulp. Then, to cover up the sound, I blurt out, “What happened to your old dude pants?”

His head turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Nothing. They’re in my hamper. Why?”

I point. At his ass. “Just, you’re not wearing them.”

The refrigerator door closes, and he makes his way back to the counter where he stands across from me. “Did you think I wore them every day?” he asks, his tone making it all too clear he thinks I’m an idiot this morning.

“I figured you had six more just like them.”

He pauses, mid smear of Drea’s bagel. “You thought I owned seven pairs of the same pants?”

“You seemed awfully fond of them last night.”

“Did he refuse to take them off or something? Because that may not have had anything to do with the pants. Maybe he’s just shy.” Drea climbs over the back of the sofa and hurries over to continue her train of thought within better earshot of her audience, “Maybe he just had performance anxiety. Happens to older dudes.”

Lane scowls. Then he drops the half-cheesed bagel on a plate and hands it to her. “Here. Yours is to-go.”

She eyes it, gives it a sniff and shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I deserve that.” A quick peck on my cheek and she’s skipping out of our apartment again, humming as she goes. Food does that to her.

“I liked her better when she was just my drunk neighbor,” he grumbles, popping my bagel into the toaster.

“She’ll grow on ya,” I assure him, dedicating my mouth primarily to my coffee as to hide the grin I’m currently fighting off to no avail.

He rips a huge bite off his bagel with his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. Chewing with one side of his mouth, he mumbles out of the other, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I’m about to remind him that I prefer my breakfast with less crunch than Drea when he returns his attention to my bagel all on his own. For someone I wanted to kill two nights ago, he’s kind of turning out to be the best thing ever.

“What about you?” I ask, a sudden surge of desire to know everything about him.

“What about me?”

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