Page 107 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“Yes, because, unlike you, I’m a partially functioning adult,” I say, plating the eggs and bacon.

Roman groans again, but this time he finally pulls away, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you or I’d be pissed you left me in bed alone.”

I shake my head again, even as my heart skips a beat. “Sit your ass down, Hotshot. Breakfast is ready.”

He groans dramatically, but he walks over to the breakfast nook and flops into one of the kitchen chairs, butt naked and rubbing his hands down his face. I set a plate in front of him and take the seat opposite him, watching as he blinks at the food like he’s still processing being awake.

“You look so fucking out of it,” I tease, smirking over my coffee cup.

He glares at me. “I hate mornings.”

“You love mornings when I wake you up with my mouth,” I counter, shoving a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

Roman points at me with his fork, eyes narrowing. “Watch it, Ward.”

I snort. “What are you gonna do? Threaten me with a good time?”

He groans again, kicking my shin under the table, but I see the smirk threatening to tug at his lips.

We eat in comfortable silence after that, the only sounds in the apartment being the occasional scrape of a fork against the plate, the hum of the fridge, and the faint music playing from my phone on the counter.

Halfway through breakfast, my phone buzzes.

I’ll be there at seven. I love you, sweetheart.

I exhale slowly, setting my phone back down. Roman tilts his head, chewing a piece of bacon. “That Ma?”

“Yeah,” I say, running my thumb over the rim of my coffee cup. “She’s coming over for dinner tonight.”

He nods, setting his fork down. His expression softens slightly. “How do you feel about that?”

“I invited her,” I explain. “I feel… lighter, maybe? But also like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Roman watches me carefully, then reaches out and laces his fingers through mine. His hand is warm and solid. Real. “The shoe isn’t gonna drop, Damon,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand. “You’re allowed to feel the way you feel, but everything isn’t always black and white, babe.”

My throat tightens, but I nod, squeezing back. We sit there for a while, just holding hands, letting the moment settle between us, and I let myself believe him.

But he’s still fucking grumpy when the moment snaps. I don’t know why it makes me so goddamn smug, but it does. Maybe because it’s too easy to mess with him when he’s like this—half-asleep, groggy as fuck, and scowling at the world like it personally offended him.

I stretch as I stand from the table, collecting our plates and setting them in the sink. “C’mon, Bishop, time to shower.”

He grunts. Actually grunts. Like some feral, half-conscious caveman. I bite back a laugh as he rubs his hands down his face again. “Five more minutes.”

I flick water at him from the sink. “We don’t have five minutes.”

He glares at me through his fingers. “You’re an actual menace.”

“Someone has to be the adult in this relationship,” I shoot back, grabbing his wrist and dragging him up from his seat. He doesn’t fight me, just stumbles after me toward the bathroom, grumbling under his breath the whole way.

When we step inside, I turn on the shower, letting the water heat up before I strip off my T-shirt. Roman, meanwhile, is still standing in the middle of the bathroom, arms crossed over his bare chest, looking personally victimized by being awake.

“You’re fucking impossible,” I say, stepping behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. “You’re acting like I’m dragging you to your execution.”

He hums, tipping his head back against my shoulder. “That’s because I wanna be in bed, not in a freezing-ass bathroom.”

I roll my eyes, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck and he moans. “Then let’s make it worth getting out of bed for.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t argue when I strip the rest of the way and pull him into the shower with me.

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