I shake my head, amused. “No, coffee is not good.”
In the spare room, I find my clothes and I tug them on. I head downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. The house is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the thump of my bare feet on the stairs. I’d love to whip her up a full breakfast—eggs, fruit, the works—but I don’t want to make her late for her very important job.
Luckily, I’ve got backup. Homemade chocolate zucchini muffins in the freezer. I pop a few in the microwave to defrost and fire up the coffee machine. By the time the pod finishes hissing, she steps into the kitchen wearing last night’s clothes. Hair a little messy, cheeks a little flushed. Damn if she doesn’t look good like that.
“Thank God no one’s around to see me do the walk of shame,” she mutters, tugging her shirt straight. Then her eyes widen. “Wait, don’t a lot of you players live in Beacon Hill?”
I chuckle. “It sucks to do the walk of shame when you didn’t even do anything worth the shame. I mean, a person should at least have some really good sex to make it worth the walk.” The microwave beeps behind me. “Besides, we’re adults. We slept. Adults sleep. No shame in that. Even if we did more, no one is going to shame us for that. We’re adults in a relationship.”
“Pretend,” she points out then tilts her head. “To be honest, I’ve never done the walk of shame before.”
“No way.” I open a cupboard and pull out another plate. Her gaze goes to the jar I keep there, a jar with Poppy’s name on it. I never did explain who Poppy was and I’m about to until her lips twitch.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” I admit, even though I’m not. She’s always been the focused one. Books, deadlines, big goals. She never had time for boyfriends—or even girlfriends—back in the day. But still, surely to God she hooked up in college.
I slide a warm muffin in front of her and pop the lid off the butter, but her eyes are focused on me. “Go ahead,” she says, smirking. “Ask it?”
I lift a brow. “It’s not really my business, but you’ve been?—”
“Sexual? Yes.” She cuts me off neatly and leans in to inhale the steam curling off the muffin. “Wow, that smells amazing. Did you get these from Gina’s Café?”
I pour a splash of milk into her coffee, exactly the way she likes it. “Uh, no.”
Her eyes narrow, the journalist in her catching the scent of a story. “Wait. You bake?”
I grin. “We’re not turning this around on me, babe.”
“Seems like you’ve got secrets too.”
“Maybe,” I say, leaning on the counter. “But right now, I’m more interested in yours. You said you’ve been sexual, but…”
She groans and takes a bite of muffin instead of answering. Her eyes flutter shut, and a quiet moan escapes. “Oh my God, Jaxon. This is unreal. You have to give me the recipe.”
“But what?” I press, smiling as she tries to dodge. “If I’m going to be your fake boyfriend, there are things I need to know.”
She laughs through another mouthful and holds the muffin up like it’s some kind of treasure. “There are things I need to know too.”
“You first.”
“Fine,” she says, setting down her muffin. “I’ve been with two guys.”
“At the same time.”
“No,” she blurts out, like that’s completely ludicrous.
I hold my hands up. “I wasn’t judging or anything, and two guys, not at the same time, nothing wrong with that.”
“No, but what’s wrong is that both times…” she winces, and adds, “I had to finish the job myself afterward.” A beat and then, “TMI?”
“That’s not embarrassing, that’s tragic. And no, not TMI. I like that we can be honest.”
She gives me a look. “You mean, like when you warned me that you ‘sleep hot’?”
“Exactly. Total honesty.”
“And then you showed me exactly what you meant by that.”