Page 80 of Crave Thy Neighbor

“Those are good options too, but let’s be honest, the best breakfast of all time is—”

“Biscuits and gravy,” she finishes for me. “I know River and Dean are all about the pie, but give me some good sausage gravy and homemade biscuits any day.”

“If I wasn’t already sleeping with you, that would have sealed the deal right there.”

“That’s all it would have taken?”

There’s a twinkle in her eye that wasn’t there before, and I’m about ninety-nine percent sure it has to do with all the orgasms I’ve given her.

She looks tired, but in that good kind of way. Her lips are still swollen from my kisses, and there’s a red spot above her collarbone where I might have spent too much time.

She’s gorgeous, and I already can’t wait to get back in my bed.

“Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” I wink.

Something flits across her eyes, a crinkle forming between her brows for the briefest of seconds.

Before I can ask what’s wrong, Darlene drops off our meals—biscuits and gravy for us both—and refills our mugs. She promises to be back to check on us soon and scurries off.

We tuck into our breakfast, too busy filling our far-too-empty stomachs to make conversation.

Maya doesn’t speak again until we’re both scraping the bottom of our plates.

“Should we talk about what happened?”

I push my empty plate away and lean back against the booth, stuffed to the gills with carbs. “I thought we discussed it plenty last night.”

She purses her lips, tipping her head to the side, studying me. “Just sex, right?”

“Just sex,” I agree.

Her lips pull into a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

We absolutely are.

Just sex. It means nothing else at all.

She’s not staying, and even if she were, it wouldn’t matter. A relationship with a single mom is the last thing I want to get wrapped up in. I don’t do love, and I certainly don’t do kids.

We’re just having fun until she moves out, and then we’ll move on like adults.

No harm, no foul…right?

Maya: I know you hate texting, but I had to tell you this now…

Maya: When I first moved in, I promised I’d cook you a warm meal every night, but I’m tired because someone kept me up past my bedtime last night and I’ve been dealing with old, cranky ladies all day.

Me: That’s a long-winded way to ask if I’m okay with takeout for dinner.

Maya: I’m so glad you could read between the lines.

Maya: Is that okay? I’m sorry for not cooking.

Me: I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.

Me: Takeout is fine. Anything particular in mind?

Maya: Pizza doesn’t sound bad unless you’d rather have something else.

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