Page 28 of Win Big

Her lips twitch. “Multigrain. With flax.”

“Okay, then, yeah. And I like my eggs sunny-side up.” I move closer. “Can I help?”

“Help yourself to coffee, if you like.” She points at the coffeemaker on the pale marble counter. “Mugs are right above it.”

I pour myself a cup.

“There’s juice in the fridge if you’d like that too,” she says. “And can you set the table? Cutlery’s in the top drawer to your right.”

I purse my lips on a smile. I offered to help, so I guess I deserve to be told what to do. I add some milk from the fridge to my coffee and sip it, then follow orders. Without being told, I man the toaster as she watches the eggs and we’re soon sitting at a round table, also whitewashed wood, eating breakfast together.

“I apologize again for last night,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I really would have been fine, but thanks for bringing me home.”

“You didn’t seem fine.” I raise an eyebrow as I lift a slice of toast to my mouth.

She waves her fork. “It was nothing. So. Day off today. I’m sure you have plans.”

Yeah, I get the message. Eat and get out. “I do, but not until later.” To make up for leaving Owen’s party early, I promised to take him to the public skating at our practice facility, which is open two to four o’clock today.

I watch her cut her eggs up, slicing around the well-done yolk in a neat circle to separate it from the white. Then she spreads the yolk onto a piece of toast. “What are you doing?”

She looks up. “This is how I eat my eggs. Well, usually I don’t eat bread, but I felt like toast today.”

“It’s great bread.”

“Thanks. I get it at a little market near here. I keep it in the freezer for times like this.”

“Times when you have male guests for breakfast?”

She gives me a bland look. “Yes.”

“Does Dan like this bread?” His name comes out of my mouth like I’m spitting out a cherry pit.

She blinks. “Dan?”

“Dan Diaz. Your boyfriend.”

She snorts. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“You were at the dinner with him last night.”

“We were sitting together. Yes, we’ve dated, but he’s not my boyfriend.”

A small cyclone is happening in my midsection. “Huh.” I pick up a piece of bacon and chomp on it. “He’s too old for you.”

“I like older men.”

I narrow my eyes. I already know I’m a year younger than her.

“They’re more mature,” she continues smoothly. “Settled.”

“Huh.” This appears to be the extent of my vocabulary right now. “Sounds boring.”

She lifts her chin. “I know you’re a... social butterfly.”

I choke on my bacon. “Butterfly?”

“It’s an expression. Better than ‘fuck boy’”

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