Do I wake Calla up? Do I let her sleep in? Should I make breakfast for the two of us, or is it an unspoken rule that you don’t make breakfast for your one-night stand’s?
I press my lips together, unsure.
This… this whole situation… it’s not my usual style. My youngest brother Hudson, yes, but me… not so much.
I’ve never had a one-night stand before. Typically, I date a woman first, get to know her, before we sleep together. That way there’s never been any awkwardness or unsurety about what’s right or what I’m supposed to do next.
I don’t know Calla well enough to know what she’ll want – which, I think, is pretty silly considering I know what sound she makes when she comes and what her pussy feels like gripping my fingers.
Is breakfast too affectionate? Too boyfriend-y?
Kicking her out seems rude, but…
I blow out an unsteady breath, feeling my right eyelid twitch with anxiety.
What would Hudson do?
I bat that thought away as quickly as it comes. Hudson would probably have kicked the girl out by now or have slipped out of her apartment door without another word while she was still sleeping, never to be seen again. I’ve heard his stories a million times over Sunday dinner at our parent’s and they’ve always leaving a sour taste behind. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be so careless. To not be plagued with what-ifs and maybes and—
Regardless, my younger brother’s days of fucking around are over now ever since he fell head over heels in love with Gee.
But if there was ever a time I could do with his advice…
Swinging my legs out of bed, I blink back the silver stars permeating my vision from standing too quickly. The sides of my temples thrum with an oncoming headache. Christ. Who let me mix my drinks?
What’s that saying again? Beer before liquor never sicker. Liquor before beer you’re in the clear.
Well, I’m certainly not in the fucking clear.
The floorboards creak beneath me as I take a step towards the bathroom, the Calla shaped lump shifting in my bed at the noise. I stop still, glancing back at her, watching as her furrowed brow relaxes back into sleep.
I brush my teeth, swilling my tongue with mouthwash and piss, pulling away the thin, single blonde strand of hair wrapped around my length.
Yanking on a grey pair of tracksuit bottoms over my hips, I will my morning wood to give it a break as I boil the kettle, grabbing a mug, and then a second, from the cupboard above.
While my coffee cools, I shake up a pre-made juice shot, dislodging the seeds from sitting at the bottom of the bottle. I knock back the orange-coloured liquid with a purse of my lips; the burn of ginger and turmeric reminding me way too much of the devil’s liquor I’d swigged back last night. Although this time, I don’t have a lime, or the sweet taste of Calla’s lips to chase away the sourness.
I busy myself with making some porridge, my usual go-to breakfast seeing as how I can’t stomach bacon or eggs, adding a spoonful of raspberry jam and a handful of organic almonds on the side.
Licking the back of the spoon clean, I push the refrigerator door closed with my hip just as a croaky voice sounds out. “Any coffee going?”
Turning, I find a tired looking Calla padding towards me. The white shirt she’s wearing – one I recognise from my own wardrobe – flirts around her upper thighs. Dangerously so.
It doesn’t help that the t-shirt is practically see through, allowing me to see her lack of knickers and the exact colour of her nipples poking through the thin fabric.
My cock perks up again at the sight as my mouth waters.
Reaching for my own coffee cup, I take a sip and swallow back the phantom taste of Calla on my tongue.
She takes another step into the kitchen, wiping the pads of her thumbs beneath her eyes, until we’re almost chest to chest. Up this close, I can just make out a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, no longer hidden by last night’s makeup.
“Coffee?” she asks again, hiding a yawn behind her palm and peering up at me.
God, she’s pretty. A fucking knockout.
“I’ll make you a cup,” I say. “How do you take it?”
“Two sugars and a dash of milk, please.”
