Page 64 of Only in Your Dreams

For the first time since then, I feel energized. I feel like somethinggoodhas happened to me. I got my life back, or control over it, at least. Sure, it’s a whole mess right now. My job doesn’t pay enough, and I’m living with my brother. I made a pretty good fool of myself last night, making moves on a man I don’t even trust to begin with.

But it’s my mess. Mine. I no longer have some manipulative asshole telling me what to do and disguising it as love.

Fuck Connor. Fuck letting myself get swept into a man’s mind games. I can get my life back on track.

I throw off the covers and groggily stumble into the bathroom to freshen up. Trip out of the bedroom, following the smell of coffee to the kitchen. The entire place is as bright as Zac’s bedroom, completely curtainless.

I poke around the kitchen until I find where Zac keeps his mugs. I wonder if…

I heave myself up on the counter to peer deep into the shelves, looking for hints of shiny yellow among the monotone mugs, and sit back on my heels in disappointment when I don’t find it.

“It’s drying by the sink.”

Zac leans in the doorway of the sliding doors leading to the back porch. He’s already dressed, in a pair of dark jeans and a fitted polo with the UOB Huskies logo embroidered on the sleeve that surely wasn’t intended to look like that. I mean, there’s no way a college purposely designed a shirt that makes their head coach look like he belongs on stage with the Chippendales, rather than shouting at uncooperative players from the sideline.

“What is?” I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.

Eyes on mine, Zac motions to the sink with the hand not holding a cup of coffee. With the fingers that found their way inside me just a few hours ago. I’ve never gone to sleep feeling so hard up and confused by the abrupt shift in my life. Last night was shaping up to be the hottest of my entire existence, until his rejection.

It stung, but I refuse to let it get to me the way it did ten years ago. Force my mind off it every time the humiliation seeps in. Try to tell myself something about it being his loss.

“Your mug,” Zac says. “I just gave it a wash. It’s been out of commission a long time.”

Mug. Right.

I hop off the counter, shaking out my hair so that it lies in front of my shoulders, obstructing my enthusiastic nipples from view. I pluck it off the drying mat, admiring the yellow polka-dots covering its surface. Parker and I had our own mugs at Grams’s old house. I haven’t thought about this thing in years, but it’s intensely satisfying that someone felt it worth saving.

I fill the mug nearly to the brim with coffee and use the hem of my shirt to wipe the counter after my sloppy pour.

“What are the odds you have—”

“Top shelf in the fridge.”

With a suspicious look over my shoulder, I wrench open the fridge. “Why do you have lactose-free cinnamon creamer?”

“Because I woke up early and went into town for lactose-free cinnamon creamer. I also made breakfast.” He drops his mug on the counter and reaches into the oven, resurfacing with a plate stacked with blueberry waffles.

By the smell of it, my favorite blueberry waffles. The ones Grams would make every time Parker and I would stay overnight.

I stare at the plate, dumbfounded. I can’t tell which part gets me more. That he remembers these tiny, nothing details from school, or that he actually bothered to wake up early enough to do all this in the first place.

Most importantly…whydid he do all this? What the hell does he get out of it?

“I took a gamble that you still liked all this,” Zac says, looking a little uncertain now. “I also got you plain creamer in case you prefer that now. And eggs, bacon, and all that if you want me to make something different.”

I eye him over my mug, taking a deep sip of coffee. Still clutching his plate, Zac opens a cabinet by the fridge and pulls out a few boxes of cereal. “I got this, too. Wasn’t sure if you’d like the healthier kind or the stuff packed with sugar, so I got a bit of everything.”

I hum. Reach for the waffle at the top of his stack. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re annoyingly thoughtful?”

His eyes crinkle up in a smile.

I take a bite of my waffle. Delicious. “Why are you waking up early, anyway? Did you not get to sleep?”

“I slept great,” he says. “I’d ask how you did, but I got a good earful of your snoring when I woke up and that’s probably answer enough.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do snore, and it’s adorable.”

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