“You don’t ask who’s at your door before you answer it?” He arches a brow. No good morning. No hello. No type of pleasantry at all.
Liam, on the other hand, looks criminally good for just waking up. He too is in gray sweatpants, a treat for all women, honestly, paired with a light blue T-shirt with some fish in the top left corner. My stomach does that annoying flip when I make eye contact with him. His stupidly beautiful hazel eyes look so soft this morning. Nothing like the intensity they showed last night.
His hand pulls at his jaw, and I catch the way his forearm flexes as he does. He genuinely looks concerned that I opened the door without asking who was on the other side and it’s equally sweet and annoying.
“I’m not expecting any visitors today so I knew it was you,” I say as I pull the door open and walk back toward the fridge, grabbing the egg carton. “Plus, I don’t know anyone else who wouldn’t just knock like a normalknock, knock, knock.”
I hear a faint laugh as I’m in the kitchen, but I don’t see him which means he’s still standing outside my door.
“You should ask who’s at your door. Even if it’s a secure place, you should ask. Or have a doorbell camera.” He projects his voice, another sign he’s not actually in my apartment.
“You can come in,” I say, taking two eggs from the carton and placing them on a napkin.
When I look up, Liam’s waltzing around the corner, and I hear the door shut behind him.
“Do you have a doorbell camera?” I ask.
He nods, looking around. He hasn’t been here since I’ve moved in.
“It smells so good in here.” He inhales twice in a row, and I smile.
“It’s probably this,” I say, lifting my coffee cup to his nose. “My coffee.”
“Wow, that’s the coffee you’re always drinking, isn’t it? I recognize the smell.”
I step back and feel my cheeks heat at those words. He recognizes the smell of my coffee. I place my cup on the counter and I don’t miss how his eyes scan over me. There’s a hint of a smile when he fully takes in my outfit and I place both hands on my hips and clear my throat.
“Yes.” I smile. “Café con leche. Here are the eggs,” I say, handing him the napkin gently.
“Oh,” Liam replies, allowing me to place the eggs in his cupped hands. He inhales one more time like he’s literally trying to hang on to the scent. “Thank you. I’ll bring them back.”
His mouth curves into a lazy, beautiful smile, and out of nowhere the next five words fly out of my mouth as if I’m not in control of my own actions.
“Do you want a cup?”
He seems just as shocked as me when he tilts his head and stares my way.Dammit, Demi, what are you doing?He was about to leave.
“Can I take it to go?”
I’m kicking myself for even offering. Of course he can’t stay. This man probably has a million better things to do than slum it in my apartment with me this morning. But why does that bother me all of a sudden? On a normal day I’d never have even offered.
“I don’t want you to think I don’t want to stay. I do,really.” He takes a step toward me. “It’s just—” He raises his hand with the eggs.
“Right, of course, you’re in the middle of something.”
I shake my head, embarrassment creeping up my spine as I make him a quick cup to go.
“It’s hot,” I warn as I give him the cup. Both eggs are cradled in one hand, and I hate how my mind wonders how many more he could hold with the size of it.
“Thanks.” He smiles as he walks toward the door and I open it.
There’s a small, but likely, chance I curl up into a ball the rest of the day and replay this whole interaction, questioning my decisions becausewhat the actual fuckwas the last ten minutes?
Once Liam is out the door, I lock the door behind him and hear him say “thank you” from the hallway. His obsession with home security makes me laugh.
When I make my way back into the kitchen, I turn the dimmed lights up all the way, and I reach into the fridge to pull out the eggs again. Gathering all the ingredients I need for flan based on the list my mom sent me. She makes cooking seem so easy, but it’s never been something I took much interest in. I’m sure something she wished was different, considering how much she loves this. But I’ve never been too much into the same things as my family. I’m proud of who I am and where my family comes from, but after thirty-five years, I’ve really come to be okay with the fact that I’m not like my mom in a lot of ways. Something that, at first, was hard on both of us, but now we’ve never been closer.
As I’m whipping the eggs, my thoughts drift to what Liam needed his eggs for. Is he baking? Does he cook? I sigh to myself and refocus on the bowl in front of me. The text from my mom says not to whip the eggs too much and I need to focus on that, not Liam. I shouldnotcare about his life outside of football.
