Page 284 of Coach
His mouth twitched, like he was trying to grin but failed. “It’s okay. I don’t stink too bad.”
I leaned down, sniffed his shirt, and tried not to gag. The scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol was stronger on him than I remembered from the club.
“That bad?” he asked.
I nodded. “You might have to just go naked. I’m sensitive to smells.”
He gaped, then a grin formed. “You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you?”
“He’s not just hot; he’s bright, too.” I kissed his lips and hopped off the bed. “Breakfast in twenty. Take your time.”
“Coffee, please. Lots and lots of coffee.”
I chirped over my shoulder, “I’m Italian. It’s assumed.”
The bacon was on the table, a stack of pancakes almost done, and I was scrambling eggs, humming to myself, when arms wrapped around me from behind. I’d been so absorbed in whatever song was rattling through my head that I startled at his touch, nearly tossing eggs onto the counter.
He nuzzled my neck, burying his nose and kissing me, holding his lips to my skin for the longest moment. When he pulled back, he didn’t stop holding me, just stood there with his arms around my waist and his chest pressed close against my back as I cooked.
It was such a simple moment.
There were no flashing lights or rose petals falling from the ceiling. Doves didn’t fly out of anyone’s ass. And yet, for some mystical reason, that moment wormed its way deep inside me and curled around my heart.
I wanted this. I wanted him waking up next to me, holding me, kissing my neck as I scrambled eggs.
I wanted the simplicity of another man caring enough to make me feel special.
I wanted Shane.
God, I was turninginto—
“Mm. Smells good,” he growled next to my ear in a way that made my cock twitch.
Damn it, I was cooking. I didn’t have time for random body parts to stand up and salute.
“Coffee’s over there.” I pointed to the opposite side of the kitchen where I’d set up an elaborate station with a coffee maker, espresso machine, and more pump bottles of flavored syrup than one might see at Starbucks.
Shane whistled. “You do love your java.”
His warmth evaporated as he padded across the kitchen. I listened to him sifting through his options before starting the Keurig. He pumped something a few times, then stirred, the spoon clanking against the ceramic mug.
There was nothing mind-bending about him making coffee.
But he was making it in my kitchen . . . while I cooked for him . . . after we’d slept so tangled together I was surprised we un-pretzeled ourselves when we woke.
I let out a contented sigh.
His lips startled me again, gently pressing into the back of my neck.
“I like sleeping next to you,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Waking next to you. You feel good.”
Eggs done, I switched off the burner and whirled,not wasting a second before planting my lips on his.
“I really like you, Shane.” I reached up and toyed with his stubborn cowlick. “I like dating you a lot, even if you pee on my floor.”
His eyes popped wide, and I thought he was going to object, deny it, defend himself of my unwarranted accusation, but his mouth twisted upward at the corners, and a tiny chuckle slipped free.
“Guess I was kind of a mess last night,” was all he said before letting his forehead fall to my shoulder.
