It honestly wasn’t fair for a man to be that perfect.
Tank patted the mattress beside him.
It took everything she had not to accept that invitation.
“I really do need to get ready,” she said. “And you guys have workouts, right?”
“Not until later this morning. Come cuddle with me for a little while.”
McKenna couldn’t help but giggle, because the word “cuddle” coming from Sex God Tank’s mouth sounded all kinds of wrong…and right.
“Nope. Unlike you, I have to be at the office by nine.”
Tank sighed, then threw his legs over the side of the bed. “Fine. Tell you what. You get ready and I’ll make us breakfast.”
“I thought you didn’t cook.”
He ignored her statement. “Do you have bread and eggs?”
She nodded.
“Then get ready for work, Mouse, and let me work my magic. I’ll start the dryer too. I doubt my clothes dried before the power went out.”
“Oh,” she said. “I should have done that last night.”
Tank wiggled his eyebrows. “You were distracted.” He walked next to her, slapping her on the ass, the impact—unfortunately—muted by her robe. “I’ll forgive you.”
She swatted him on the arm, then watched as he unabashedly walked out of her bedroom and downstairs completely nude. Not that he had a choice, considering his only dry clothes were down there. She enjoyed the show until he was completely out of sight.
“Wow,” she breathed. “Good morning to me.”
Twenty minutes later, McKenna came downstairs to find Tank back in his jersey and boxers, buttering a pile of toast. He grinned when he saw her, taking in her work outfit.
The Stingrays organization subscribed to the casual Friday concept. Actually, the rest of the week was pretty casual, too. Benny had explained when he hired her that unless she had a meeting with the bigwigs, she was fine to work in jeans and tees, which was a big perk of the job as far as she was concerned, because she hated business attire.
Her mouth started watering when she saw the pile of fluffy scrambled eggs Tank had put on a plate for her. Then he slid a glass of orange juice next to it and gestured for her to sit down at the counter.
“Dig in,” he said, joining her. They ate in companionable silence, dining together now a familiar thing, given all the meals they’d consumed together on the road.
They’d just finished eating when the dryer buzzer sounded. Tank walked upstairs to grab his clothes, looking way too at home in her home.
When he came back down, he was—sadly—dressed in his jeans and shirt from last night. “I threw my jersey in the washing machine, so it’ll be clean for you to wear to tonight’s game.”
She considered telling him that she had a million other Stingrays shirts in her wardrobe, but he’d been very vocal and insistent about her wearing his jersey to the games.
She didn’t bother picking the fight, because as this morning wore on, she started to recall all those reasons why she shouldn’t like how nice it was having Tank in her personal space.
Tank took both of their dishes to the sink and rinsed them—something she knew he never did in his own kitchen—before returning to the counter.
“Okay, well,” she started, wishing she knew what the hell she was supposed to say now. Did she thank him for the casual sex and countless orgasms? Did she just say “see you around” without making a big deal of it all?
“I’ll see you tonight,” Tank said, as he leaned toward her, giving her a soft, sweet but practically platonic kiss, when compared to last night’s.
“Yep,” she said, following him through her apartment, watching as he stopped to grab his car keys and phone from the living room. He must have reclaimed his wallet when he got dressed.
He gave her another quick kiss at the door, and then he was gone.
McKenna stood still, staring at the closed door, hating that he wasn’t there anymore.
