Page 17 of Dean

AVERY

I’m mostly a good roommate. I might have had to wash my sheets last night because I came in my sleep, like a teen boy who just discovered what lust was. So I may run up the water bill, but fuck. I didn’t mean to.

“You okay?” Dean asks when he finds me in the kitchen cooking breakfast. He must have noticed my stripped bed and the running laundry machine.

I’m wearing my pajama pants, a crop top, and my UGG boots. My hair is a mess, still mostly braided from Dean’s job last night, but falling out near my temples. I’m loath to take it out. I want to leave my hair like this forever.

“Yep! Just love fresh sheets,” I lie as I scramble the eggs. “I can totally split the bills with you while I’m here. But anyway, I’m making breakfast. You like toast?”

“I don’t really eat breakfast,” he says as he moves to the coffeepot and turns it on. “And you’re not splitting the bills with me.”

I ignore that last comment. “With the amount of work you do, you need to eat breakfast, Dean.”

He peers over at me and then grabs the bag of coffee grounds from above me. His arm knocks into me, and I shiver slightly from his touch.

This. Right here is why I’m doing laundry at six a.m. His body against mine.

He’s also not wearing a shirt.

Which is detrimental.

But I soldier on like the warrior I am. I will win this fight. I will go down in history as the bravest gay.

“I guess I could try some. It does smell good.”

“It is good. I’m a wonderful cook. Been doing this since I was young.”

“Yeah? Why?”

He leans against the counter as the coffee machine sputters out some java.

“You know…neglectful parents, self-preservation. Mostly, I just wanted to eat and not starve.”

His eyebrows rise, and I wave it off. “No feeling sorry for me, Dean. I’m fine. I’m stronger because of it and an excellent cook.”

I hold up a forkful of eggs to his lips and he leans forward and takes a bite. His eyelids flutter and he sighs.

“Yeah, that’s good.”

“Told ya.”

I scoop some up on a plate just as the toast pops up, and I set it on his plate.

“There you go.”

He takes his coffee and the plate before sitting down at the kitchen table. He eats slowly, almost as if waiting for me to take my seat as well. Which I do. I have my tea and I sip on it while I eat like a lady. I refuse to stuff my face all the time when he’s around.

I think of my sister and the way she’d roll her eyes at me as she got older.

“God, you’re so embarrassing, Avery. Can you like not?”

I’d just grin at her and roll my eyes, stuffing my face even further. Fuck, I need to call her.

“What are you thinking about?” Dean asks.

“Who says I’m thinking?”

“I can tell by the way you bite your bottom lip.”

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