Page 13 of The Trust
The snicker he lets out has the corner of my lips tipping up and I reach for the plate he brought me.
It’s an egg white omelet with what looks like spinach and cheese inside that I balance on my thighs and fork off a bite right-handed.
We’re silent for a beat, something that’s not common for Mac, though it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest.
It’s actually … nice.
Soft.
Sweet.
My chest fills as I chew, gaining fuel with each bite that I swallow, and take the mug back from him.
I’ve never had breakfast in bed before.
“How’s your ass, baby?” he finally asks, his voice quiet.
The fingers curling around his thigh flex. “It’s …”
I feel his eyes pin me, and I sip from the mug before setting it on the nightstand.
“Okay, fine.” I roll mine. “It’s sore.” I lift one leg slightly, then the other and wince. “Definitely sore.”
He’s biting his lip when I risk a glance through my lashes.
Is he remembering everything like I am?
“We need a bathtub here.”
I hum and cut off another bite that I wolf down.
When I’m finished and the plate is abandoned between my feet, Mac lays his head on my shoulder. Snakes an arm beneath the one still covering his thigh and mirrors me.
He falls eerily quiet and after a beat, he scoots so close that there’s no space left between our sides.
“Vida,” I rumble.
I’m met with a sigh.
“Just let me touch you.”
“You are touching me.”
It’s like I can hear his eye roll.
But then he hooks a leg over mine and wraps my arm up in his and as much as I love this …
“Spit it out.”
His chest expands with a deep inhale.
“I need to ask my best friend something about my boyfriend.”
“Okay …” I drag out.
“But they’re both you.”
Flutters erupt in my stomach, and I turn to press a kiss on the top of his head.
