Her mouth drops open, then snaps shut, like she’s not sure whether to laugh, gag, or remember what else comes with big feet.
I lead her into the kitchen. “Sit.”
She perches on the stool, drowning in that jumper, swinging her legs like a kid.
I pull spinach, banana, frozen berries, and coconut water from the fridge. Her brows lift as I load the blender.
The blender roars, and she winces, pressing her palms over her ears. Hangover written all over her face. I flick it off, pour the purple sludge into a glass, and slide it toward her.
Her nose wrinkles suspiciously. “This is where you tell me it’s full of sheep guts, right? Some Scottish hangover cure?”
“Drink it.”
She takes the world’s tiniest sip, like it might be poison. Then her eyes widen. “Oh. That’s... actually really good.”
I lean back against the counter, arms folded. “Your body’s crying out for half of what’s in there after you rinsed it all out with booze last night. That’s why you feel like shite.”
She takes another gulp, getting a purple mustache she doesn’t notice. “This is really kind. You didn’t have to.”
“It’s just a smoothie.”
“Still. Not everyone would bother.” Her voice drops. “My ex used to get angry when I was hungover. He was such a… grump about it.”
I arch a brow. I haven’t had many long-term relationships, but I know enough to recognize that’s not how you treat someone. “Your ex sounds like a prick.”
She shrugs, staring into the smoothie. “He was... yeah. He was.”
She sets her glass down, and I catch the faintest tremor in her fingers.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“I’m still rattled about last night. I know you’re used to women who are confident and know exactly what they’re doing in these situations. I’m not that. I just feel... like I’m doing everything wrong.”
I push off the counter and close the distance between us, turning her stool so she has to face me. “You think I don’t know this is complicated? You think I don’t know I’m the big bad wolf in this situation already? The last thing I want is for you to feel wrong around me.”
“But you left so suddenly last night. Did I do something wrong?”
“Christ, no.” I shake my head. “You passed out. I wanted you to sleep.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
My eyebrows pull tight. “Is that a question? Because I didn’t think you were that drunk.”
“No! I remember everything.” Her cheeks burn crimson. “I just meant... you didn’t want to?”
“Of course I wanted to. But you’d been drinking. I wasn’t about to take advantage.”
She bites her lip. “So you do want to…”
“Yes, I want to. And I’ve got no fucking clue what to do about it.”
She blinks up at me, cheeks burning. “But last night, you... and I didn’t reciprocate. You didn’t get anything from it.”
A noise breaks out of me, half growl, half laugh. “I got plenty from it.”
Her lips part in a shocked littleoh.
I cup her jaw, my thumb grazing her cheek.
