Page 105 of Blue

“Be right back,” she said, slithering out of the bed and sliding the vest back up her arms. It seemed wrong not to wear it.

She pulled the front closed tight over her chest as she exited the room, peering around as she did her best quick pee-pee walk.

She didn’t need an awkward first meeting with his kids looking like “who done it and ran.” Jesus, his kids better not be there.

He wouldn’t do that.

That’d be a dick move.

Oh, you’re hungover and look like hot garbage? Surprise! Meet my kids!

Nah. He’d never do that.

When she got to the restroom without a chance encounter, she was about eighty percent sure they were kid free. Time would tell. Or she could ask.

Once her business was done, she stared in the mirror, turning this way and that, admiring the vest she never thought she’d get. Sure, she wanted it but had just assumed it was one of those things that was out of her reach. The stiff leather felt amazing, and she had already developed an addiction to petting it.

Suddenly, she was very aware of her smeared makeup, raccoon eyes, and the morning breath. Okay, she needed to fix that. First things first. She peeled off the remaining false lash. No need to look half-fabulous. She was an all-or-nothing kind of woman.

Running the water in the sink, she searched through the cabinet under it for some mouthwash. Using a toothbrush in the holder seemed wrong. She assumed all three were spoken for. So, she’d have to settle for the mouthwash.

Taking a large swig, she swished while she bent over and splashed water on her face to scrub the previous evening’s makeup off.

Hand soap would be hell on her skin, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Blue had made worse decisions in her life.

In the beginning of their time together, she’d have hated the idea of Mooky seeing without her face fully done. Months passed. They’d spent impromptu nights together, and she forgot when she’d made the decision that raccoon eyes were worse than her natural look.

While she dried her face, her gaze drifted down to the leather again. It was intoxicating. An involuntary smile grew, and her heart swelled.

Spitting the mouthwash out, she opened the door and gasped.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “I thought you fell in. I came to check on you.”

A blush heated her cheeks. “Washed my face.”

She patted her cheeks, grateful it hadn’t been one of his kids.

Nodding, he stepped back, allowing her to exit the bathroom. “Making coffee.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Got bacon in the oven and thinking about making some eggs.”

She arched a brow and peered at him. “Bacon? In the oven?”

“Best way to make it crispy.” He smirked.

Shaking her head, she snickered. “Bathroom’s all yours.” She gestured as she glanced left and then right. “Kitchen’s this way?” She pointed away from the bedroom.

“A-yup,” he agreed and headed toward it. “Don’t need it. Went in the yard when you took too long.”

“The freedom of maleness.” She rolled her eyes and followed.

“Don’t be jealous. How do you like your eggs?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Since when did you get so domesticated?” She teased as they entered the kitchen.

This was beyond surreal. He had a kitchen, a bedroom of his own—hell he had a house. This was far more happily ever after than she had ever expected things would be for her and him.

Caught somewhere between absurd, relieved, and shock, another chuckle bubbled in her chest. She bit her lips, trying to hold it in. She needed to go with it because, well, this was apparently reality.

If it wasn’t, then this was a dream she never wanted to wake from.

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