“Nope.” Miller shakes his head.
“You’ve never slept together? Nothing romantic between you at all?” Chase asks again. I don’t know if it’s surprise, disbelief, or stupidity, but I’ve had enough.
“No, Jesus. Miller and I are friends. That’s it. Why is that so hard for you to believe? Can we be done with this fucking conversation?” I toss my hands in the air and spin back to the refrigerator for something to eat, already knowing I won’t find anything.
“I find it hard to believe any man could just be friends with you.” The gravel in Chase’s voice has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Don’t think I can.”
“On that note, I’m out of here.” Miller sounds amused and I don’t like it.
“What? No,” I protest, abandoning my search for breakfast.
Miller crowds me against the counter and whispers in my ear, “You’ve clearly got things you need to take care of.” He kisses me on the head, then tips his head at Chase.
“Bennett, disrespect her and I’ll disrespect your face.” Chase doesn’t take his eyes off me as Miller heads for the door.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” is the last thing I hear from Miller before he leaves me alone with Chase. The two of us and enough sexual energy to set the house on fire.
After a few seconds, minutes, hours, who knows how long, the silence is broken by us talking over each other.
“Why are you still here?” I’m not in the mood for more of his testosterone-fueled questioning.
“I thought maybe we could talk.” At least he has the decency to sound remorseful for his accusations.
“There’s nothing to talk about other than how you got my address.” I quirk my eyebrow giving him a hard stare.
He ignores me, standing from the barstool and circling the island before I have a chance to respond. “Can I make you breakfast?”
Invading my space, he opens the refrigerator door. The fact that he still smells good despite showing up last night drunk and sleeping on my couch makes me irrationally annoyed.
“I only eat yogurt for breakfast.” The thought of him cooking for me is thrilling. No one has ever cooked me breakfast. Sure, the guys cook when we’re together, but to them I’m a member of the family. I’m not sure what I am to Chase. An ex-hookup?
“Let me make it up to you for showing up in the middle of the night, and for the showdown with Miller.”
“Make it up to me by staying in my house uninvited even longer?” I’m reaching but running out of excuses. The fact that I want him to stay is proof enough that he shouldn’t.
“Bree, please can I cook you breakfast?”
My breath hitches at hearing him call me Bree again. It’s the first time since I told him Bree was a fantasy in my office. I want to ask why he still uses the nickname I gave him, but instead I sigh and reach for a mug to pour myself a cup of coffee. I need caffeine if we’re going to talk this out.
Once the mug is full, I use it as a shield and respond, “I don’t have anything for you to cook breakfast with.”
“Would you be okay if we ordered something for delivery? Whatever you want.” He’s all but pleading now, and I don’t hate the grovel.
Taking my first sip of coffee, I release the tension in my shoulders and lean into the warmth of the mug in my hands and the perfection of its caramel taste on my tongue. “Anything I want?”
“Anything,” he smiles and unlocks his phone as if readying himself to take my order.
“There’s a good bagel place nearby. I’d like a cinnamon sugar bagel, blueberry muffin, and Nutella cream cheese.” I smile over the edge of my mug at the satisfaction in his expression reflected at me.
“Does this bagel place have a name?” he flirts, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The intimacy of this moment is too much to bear. We need boundaries. Clearing my throat, I tell him the name of the restaurant then back away and make myself comfortable on the couch in the living room while he orders.
“The food will be here in about forty-five minutes.” I knew it would take time for our food to be delivered, so hopefully we can have this chat before it arrives, and if it goes terribly, maybe he can hitch a ride home with the delivery driver.
“You can have some coffee while we wait if you want.”
“I don’t drink coffee. I think I need water more than the caffeine this morning anyway.” He sits on the opposite side of the couch. The blankets are put away and the cushions and pillows are straightened. It’s as if no one slept here last night.
“How are you feeling this morning?” For the first time today, I really look at Chase. He’s still wearing his suit pants from last night, but lost his button-down shirt, tie, and jacket somewhere. A cursory glance around the room tells me they are folded on a chair in the kitchen. His white undershirt clings to his biceps, highlighting the sleeves of tattoos on his arms. Flashes of thosearms framing my head in a darkened room flit through my mind before I can stop the memory.
