I did myself a solid when I commando crawled out eleven years ago, I remind myself.
“Knew it,” Xander says, as he interlaces his fingers behind his head and leans back, like he’sthe man. I shake my head, trying to keep my mouth in a straight line, but I can’t. He’s the exact amount of ridiculous that reels me in.
“All right, calm down,” I say through a laugh. “It’s just breakfast.” I say it before I even realize the double entendre that fills the silence between us. I hold my breath as I wait for Xander to reply.
He leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, elbows on the table. “This isn’t just breakfast,” he says, staring me down.
Fuck. I am not prepared to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not yet. My heart rate picks up at what he’s suggesting.
“This is a victory for the ages,” he says, mock serious. I bite my bottom lip at the banter, loosening immediately. The way Xander knows when to be serious and when to completely mess with me doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s like he can read me. It’s like he knows me. It’s like he—I don’t know. He makes it easy to keep him around.
“You’ve been waiting to gloat for eleven years?” I say, teasing. “That’s depressing.”
“Depressing or strategic?”
“Deliciously depressing,” I say, picking up my fork and holding it out as evidence for just how delicious his victory is.
“What can I say, I play the long game,” he says, sincere now. I know exactly what he’s implying. It doesn’t matter what happened between our first night and an hour ago. He wants me more than just sex. And I am choosing to ignore it.
Xander drains the last of his coffee. I glance down at his plate. It’s completely empty.
This could warrant the end.
And still, I have no desire to commando crawl out of here, even though the moment I finish chewing my mouthful would be the perfect timing for Xander to walk back out my door and leave.
Sure, I’ll see him at the sleep study tonight. I just know it won’t be awkward. Xander has had a front row seat to all of me over these past three weeks and he’s still sitting here. With me.
By the end of the sleep study—if I want—we could be waving goodbye for good.
This could all be so civil.
And yet, we are beyond that.
His eyes flicker to my lips right before a smile spreads across his face.
I reach up to wipe my mouth. “Do I have egg jizz on my face?”
“Egg jizz?” Xander says, delighted at my description of hollandaise sauce. His whole face lights up. And I mentally draw the number next to my name, like I’m the one who’s won by making him smile like that.
“That’s what my one and only attempt at making hollandaise looked like,” I say, scrunching up my nose.
“You know, that is a very accurate description,” he says, still smiling. “But no, you do not have egg jizz on your face.”
“Then why are you staring at me?”
“I’m just in awe.”
“What’d I do?” I say innocently as I trace my tongue along my lip just to watch his reaction.
“You know exactly what you did,” he says, his eyes flashing dark like he’s accessing a memory and it’s not from eleven years ago. More like an hour ago.
Him, on top of me. His arms, caging me in. My teeth, scraping the skin of the small swallow tattoo on his bicep.
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip, in the memory with him.
“What now?” Xander says, reminding me I don’t have to conjure up a memory of him. He’s right here. And he’s not going anywhere. But there’s a slight pitch in his voice. He wants to know if he’s the one who should be commando crawling out of here.
“Now, we watchCriminal Minds,” I say, getting up and walking around the table to stand directly in front of him. His hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me close, burrowing his face into the soft fabric of the UCLA LAW T-shirt I put back on. My hands gravitate toward his mop of curls and I rake my fingers through them.
