Page 7 of Collision

Chapter two

Mikaela

The thick aroma of fried bacon drifts through the apartment, tempting me out of a much needed sleep, and I roll to my side. Reaching for my phone a swell of darkness comes, bringing in relief as I stretch down to my bones, and I let out a small sigh. It’s only six fifteen, but Jamie is a creature of habit and I’ve grown used to his early rises in the last six months.

Listening carefully, I can hear him padding around the apartment, opening drawers and talking to someone - probably another one of his frat buddies on the phone - and I grumble to myself. Unlike my brother, I do not function well in the mornings. In fact, I don’t function at all.

One glance in the mirror confirms my suspicions that the fact I had another shit night’s sleep is written in the pallor of my skin and the groggy look in my eyes and I kick my feet a little in frustration. I need sleep. Lots of it.

I clamber out of bed, grabbing a pair of ridiculous socks from a drawer, and shove my feet into them as I stumble out towards the promise of breakfast, burnt or otherwise.

At least I get food this time. Usually I’m the one who cooks.

My stomach growls and I grumble through a yawn.

Ben

“You know, Jamie.” She yawns as she falls out of the spare room, yanking on a sock. “I think I’ll enjoy my mornings much more when I find my own place.”

When I glance back at her my skin prickles. Her hair is a mess of curls bursting from a knot on top of her head and it seems to bounce as she trips a little. There’s a simple beauty about her when she’s half asleep.

Don’t fucking stare, Ben.

“Why is that, do you think?” I try to level my voice into something light and can’t help but laugh when she stops moving.

Her eyes snap up, her hands now knotted in her hair as she tries and fails to tame it, and a small squeak slips from her lips. I can feel my smile slipping. It falls out of place entirely as I trace over the tight fit of a tank top that has seen better days and shorts that leave very little to the imagination. Still, my mind does a pretty good job of imagining certain things anyway and my heart is a jackhammer in my chest. For one terrifying moment I find myself wondering what it might feel like to run my fingers over the slip of skin that peeks over the waistband of her shorts - what it could feel like to trail kisses along the exposed white of her shoulder and up her neck.

Fuck.

As she crosses her arms over her chest and a mask of stone cold indifference slips across her face, I shake my head, willing away the thoughts that have absolutely no place in this fragile little thing between us, and turn back to the stove.

“What are you doing here?”

If she wants to sound intimidating she needs to give herself time to wake up.

I smile as I focus on the eggs that are now over-cooked. “I was invited.”

Mikaela

He’s just standing there with a spatula in his hand, staring. Neither of us speak and my skin tingles underneath his steady gaze.

Why is he breathing like that?

I shift and fold my arms around myself, wishing I’d thrown on a sweatshirt before I left my room, and he shakes his head as he turns away from me.

“What are you doing here?” My throat croaks with sleep and I grimace.

“I was invited.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “Breakfast?”

“It’s six am, Haston. Why are you in my kitchen?”

“First of all, this is your brother’s kitchen, and you’re the one who pointed that out. Although, I will admit you didn’t realise it was me you were pointing it out to so, I’ll allow it.” Waving the spatula in front of him, Ben chuckles.

I roll my eyes as I move around him, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a water.

“Secondly,” he continues, “I’m going for a run with your brother in ten. Care to join?”

My hand stills and my body heats. Memories of watching Ben and Jamie compete on the track in high-school, Ben’s muscles slick with sweat and his smile mischievous, slink into my mind and my breathing thickens.

---