“Olivia,” he says firmly, and for some reason, my eyes pop right open.
“I’m sorry!” I cry.
His brows furrow. “For what? Falling off my bed?” He chuckles, and I glare at him. It takes him a minute, but I see when he realizes what I mean. “Don’t be sorry about that.Fuck, why would you be sorry?I’msorry. I can’t always control it in the morning.” He gives me a sheepish smile.
“I was humping you while you slept! I swear I’ve never done that before. I didn’t mean to. Well, okay, maybe I did. Ugh.” I turn over so I don’t have to look at him, but he’s laughing, actually laughing. I bury my face in his pillow. “Are you seriously laughing at me?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound it. “Barbie, look at me.” When I don’t, he grabs my shoulder and forces me to roll over. “I was enjoying that. Waking up to you rubbing your pussy all over me is something I’ve been dreaming about since I met you. Don’t ever apologize. Use me all you want.” He tosses a wink at the end.
Thankfully, a loud knock on his door saves me from dying of embarrassment.
“Shit, I’ll be right back,” he says, adjusting himself before disappearing from the room.
I slip into the bathroom, wash my face, and brush my teeth. When I step back into his room, he’s sitting on his bed, staring down at his phone, his brows pinched tightly.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, that was Tanner. They’ve been trying to reach me. We got a last-minute gig tonight and we need to prep.”
“Oh. That’s good, right?”
He sighs. “Yeah, it is, but I need to head out soon.”
“Okay. I’ll get dressed and call a ride so you can get going.”
He gets up and moves toward the bathroom. “I’ll take you home. I just need to brush my teeth and shower.” He closes the door behind him, and I slip my dress back on, then fold his T-shirt and place it on his bed, ignoring the urge to stuff it into my purse. I gather my gifts and carry them to the living room.
Penn emerges from his room wearing a black hoodie and his usual shredded dark jeans, his hair wet from the shower. Afew stray droplets of water dot his forehead, and I have the strangest urge to lick them. I touch my cheeks, wondering if I’m coming down with something.
“You okay?” he asks.
I drop my hand. “Yeah!” I say a little too loudly.
He heads to his kitchen. I assumed he’d want to leave straight away, but he goes to the fridge and starts pulling things out. “Want coffee first?”
Penn sets a bottle of cold brew, some oat milk, a small jar of honey, whipped cream, and a container of brown sugar on his counter. He grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with ice. My stomach drops just the same as my mouth as I watch him.
“I don’t have a fancy espresso maker, but the lady at the store said this was the next best thing.” He pours some cold brew into the glass, then adds the oat milk, a teaspoon of brown sugar, a dollop of whipped cream, and tops it with a drizzle of honey. Grabbing a straw, he gives it a quick stir before pushing the glass toward me. “If it’s shit, it won’t hurt my feelings.”
I’m dumbfounded. No one has ever made me coffee before—aside from the baristas at the coffee shops I frequent, but they get paid.
I take a small sip first, and when the sweetness hits my tongue, I keep drinking. “This is really good.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “You lyin’ to me, Barbie?”
I shake my head. “No, promise. This is amazing. Thank you.” I take another drink, shocked by how good it is. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
He shrugs and turns to grab a mug from his cabinet to get himself some coffee. “I wanted you to have coffee when you stay over. It’s no big deal.”
Itisa big deal. He thought of me, remembered exactly how I liked my coffee, then went to the store and got all the ingredients. He even bought name brands, which I know aren’t cheap.Not only that, but he made it for me. He could’ve just handed me all the stuff and let me do it, but instead, he did it. It doesn’t even look like it was his first try. He followed the steps exactly how I would have, like he researched it.
At a loss for words and with something dangerous swirling inside me, I step around the island and wrap my arms around his neck and bring his lips to mine.
“Uh, Ellie?”I call from the kitchen. “What is all this?”
She comes strolling in. “What?”
I point to the overfilled trash can that’s exploding with donut boxes. “Did you go out last night?” There was only one box of donuts left from our trip to Krispy Kreme. Now there are two sticking out of the trash. I’m not a nutritionist, but eating three dozen donuts in a span of a few days cannot be good for you.
