Page 2 of On a Fault Line

He might not be a man of many words, but at least you know from his scowls and how he rubs at the back of his neck whether he’s grumpy or not.

I meander into the bathroom, enjoying the scent of strawberries that lingers in the air from the freshener. My stomach rumbles again, reminding me that I need to eat. Not seeing my clothes, I exit the room and enter the closet.

Last night is a bit of a blur when it comes to wardrobe, but I vaguely remember wearing Collins’s T-shirt. I doubt he will mind me doing it again.

Plucking a perfectly folded one from the shelf, I slip it over my naked body, enjoying the soft cotton feel against my bare flesh.

I could get used to wearing his clothes. It’s the already worn ones I prefer because they smell of him.

Hair bands rest on top of his dresser, making my lips curl up. I swear these things multiply when they are left unchaperoned. Twisting my hair into a messy bun, I secure it with a band. I pull out some hair from the bun to make it looser and less tight at the top of my head.

I already have a headache starting, but it’s isolated to the back of my brain, which signifies I just need water—and of course, breakfast.

Collins’s place is quiet. I don’t even hear signs of him moving about. Did he leave?

My feet carry me down the hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen. Standing on my tippy-toes, I stretch up to see if he has any cereal in the cupboard.

I giggle at the lineup of microwave popcorn that definitely wasn’t there a week ago.

Who is this man? I can’t see him being a fan of this type of food but also don’t want to be too presumptuous to think he purchased it with my eclectic appetite in mind.

I shift the perfect row of boxes one by one to see behind them.

And then I feel it…the instinct that I’m not alone.

Whipping my body around, I come face-to-face with Collins who looks…

Angry?

Shocked?

Disappointed?

“You scared me,” I gasp, clutching my chest. “I thought you skipped out or something.” Why is he wearing a suit? A bit formal for a casual breakfast, but what do I know about Collins Stone? Apparently not much. “You left me all alone. I missed?—”

“Get dressed.” His words come out in a two-syllable direct order, causing me to take a physical step backward.

I think he’s in need of some cereal as well. Collins already has a naturally stern disposition, so when you add hangry into the mix—look out.

As much as I want to test my boundaries and see just how far they stretch, I’m not willing to do so if his stomach is empty.

“Let me make you some cereal. I’m really good at it.”

Sheesh. I don’t even get a smirk.

It’s a tough crowd this morning.

Collins’s eyes glide over me, settling on my bare thighs. He takes a few steps forward, shielding my body in his shadowy presence. With purpose, his fingers tug the hem down, trying to conceal more of my exposed legs, I assume.

“Okay, you aren’t a leg man. Got it.”

I turn my head, catching an image of black and white in my vision.

Oh. Shit.

When my eyes register the man dressed in a similar professional looking suit as Collins, I stumble back into the counter.

“Good morning.”

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