I brew a second cup and reach into the fridge to get her hazelnut creamer that she loves. Pouring the small amount she likes, I stir it and hand it to her.
Studying me warily, she takes a sip and leans back against the counter. The coffee warms her palms as she brings it to her lips again.
“You know how I like my coffee,” she says, tilting her head to the side. It was more of a statement than a question as she furrows her brows and tries to get a read on me.
“Took a wild guess.” I shrug my shoulders and take a sip of my black coffee. Hell will freeze over before I admit I know way more about her than I let on. That would only lead down a dangerous road, and it’s one path I’m not willing to take with her.
“You’re lying,” she says without hesitation. “What I can’t figure out is why?”
“You’re reading more into it than what it is. All girls love their fancy flavored creamers,” I say, playing it off like it’s no big deal. “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. I just assumed you were like the rest of them when I saw it in the fridge.”
Her eyes narrow, and I get the reaction I wanted. Anger is safer…more comfortable.
“I’m surprised you make your one-night stands coffee.” She storms past me and flings open the pantry before reaching inside and throwing some bread on the counter. “You seem more like thekick them out in the morning type.”
Taking three slices out, she puts them in the toaster oven and reaches for an avocado from a bowl that’s sitting in the middle of the island. When she gets a knife and starts to slice around the oval shape before breaking it apart and spearing the seed out rather aggressively with one sharp jab of the blade, I start to doubt the whole getting her angry part now that she has a weapon in her hand.
“I don’t make them coffee, and I do kick them out.” I eye her cautiously as she sets the knife down and scoops out the green insides with a spoon.
“So…how does it work?” She bites her lip and avoids my eye contact as she busies herself with mashing up the avocado and adding a little squeeze of lemon.
“How does what work?” I ask, confused and at a total loss as to where this conversation is going.
“Do you just agree beforehand that it’s just sex, or do you just get them in your bed and ghost them the next day, leaving broken hearts all over the cities?”
“Why does this matter?”
“I’m just curious.” She pulls the toast out of the oven and spoons the green mixture onto the slices before adding someseasoning to the top. “Here,” she says, handing me two on a plate. “You need to eat something before practice.”
I stare at the plate in front of me like it’s a foreign object. No one has made me food before hockey practice since my mom died, let alone even care that I need to eat something.
“Don’t worry, Stone. I didn’t poison it.” She takes a bite of hers just to prove her point.
“Thanks,” I mumble, shoving a piece into my mouth. It’s not my normal breakfast of eggs and a protein shake, but I find myself enjoying it. “It’s good.”
“Did I just get a compliment from you?” She feigns shock, and I roll my eyes. “Hell must have finally frozen over,” she adds with a soft chuckle.
“Very funny.” I finish off the rest of my breakfast and take our empty plates to the dishwasher, placing them inside. “I make it very clear to them that I don’t do relationships,” I say, deciding to answer her question because part of me is curious where this conversation is headed. “The ones that agree tojust a night...they only want to fuck a hockey player anyway, so they use me just as much as I use them.”
I throw the dishtowel on the counter and cross my arms over my chest as I stand against the white granite.
“Why don’t you do relationships?”
“Because I don’t,” I say with conviction. “Anymore questions?”
“Just one.” She takes a hesitant step forward until she’s invading my space. Her smell hits me like a freight train as I inhale the sweet scent of her light shampoo. I love the fact that she doesn’t douse herself in perfume. She’s always smelled so damn good to me. It’s just…Savi.
I drop my arms and grip the edge of the counter to keep from reaching out as her ocean eyes draw me in.
“Why do you find every girl attractive, but me?”
It takes a moment for my brain to register what she just said as I scramble to make sense of it.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Just admit it, Knox. I want to know why? You’ve pushed me away for years, barely glancing at me, almost to the point where I feel like you are repulsed. What do those girls have that I don’t?”
I debate on how to approach this. I could lie and say something mean that would push her away, making it easier on me to stay away, or I could let her in a little and let the truth scare her away.
