She took another bite, chewed slowly, then swallowed.“There’s coffee if you want some.”
“Thanks,” he managed, not moving.He wasn’t sure he could.“Um.You’re up early.”
She crossed to the table, choosing a chair opposite where he stood, and sat down.“I’ve some errands to run, and I want to get them done before it gets too hot.”
He thought it would be better with her sitting, when he couldn’t see her ass or thighs, but he now had a direct view down the scoop neck of her tank top.He fought to keep his eyes on her face.“Want company?”
Her eyes met his over the peanut butter toast, and he’d have given his left nut to be able to read them.But the contacts were a very effective shield.“Don’t you have to work?”
“Yeah,” he said, feeling foolish.“But I don’t have any meetings today.I can log in whenever.”
“I’ve got it, but thanks.”
“Okay,” he said and forced himself to cross the room to the cabinets.Maybe coffee would jump start his brain.
He pulled down a mug and grabbed the pot.He poured and gulped.
“It’s hot,” she warned a second before he spewed coffee all over the counter.
“No shit,” he wheezed and, mouth scalded, reached for the paper towels.He mopped the counter, tossed the paper towels into the sink—fuck it, he’d put them in the trash later—then took his coffee cup to the table and collapsed into a chair.
“You hungover?”
He wished he was—at least then he’d have an excuse for how awkward and clumsy he was being.“No.”
Her eyebrows shot up at the snap in his tone, her mouth quirking in amusement.“Okay.”
The smirk just made his dick harder, and knowing he couldn’t do anything about it didn’t improve his mood.“Sorry,” he managed.“Rough night.”
Something flickered in her expression, almost like a wince, then was gone.“Hit the town, did you?”
“Did a ten-mile bike ride,” he said and took a cautious sip of coffee.
She wrinkled her nose, and the expression was so familiar he almost smiled.She’d never fully understood his enjoyment of the outdoors, or his love of climbing on a mountain bike and tackling a rough trail.He’d talked her into joining him once, on what he considered an easy ride on a short trail, and she’d threatened to kill him twice in the first mile.By the second she was barely speaking to him, and when they’d started the third she’d stopped her bike and refused to go any further.Only the promise of a thorough massage once they got home—and the fact that the only way to get home was to keep going—had convinced her to finish the three and a quarter mile ride.
“What’s so funny?”she asked, and he realized he was grinning.
“I was just remembering the time I talked you into a ride on Willow Creek Trail.”
She held up a hand, palm out.“We do not speak of it.”
His grin widened.“Drama queen.”
“Do you know how many mosquito bites I got on that bike ride?”
“Yes, because you made me put cortisone cream on every last one of them.”
“Damn right, I did,” she said tartly, but her mouth had softened, and even with the contacts shielding her eyes he could see they’d gone misty with memories.
He risked a little push.“And then you said you were too sore to move, so if I wanted sex I had to do all the work.”
“And work you did,” she drawled, raising her coffee mug in a toast.
Relief widened his grin, and he tapped his mug to hers.“It was my pleasure.”
“And speaking of your pleasure…”
He choked on his coffee, coughing and sputtering, and barely managed to keep from spitting all over the table.