A hard swallow moves along the length of his thick throat. For a long moment, he stares at me, his jaw bulging.
He licks his lips, his gaze on my body. “You keep it.”
I grin. “Really?”
He smiles too. “Yeah. You look way cuter in it than I do.”
I chuckle and walk over to him. I want to slide my arms around his waist and hug him. And kiss him. But I don’t because this isn’t real. He isn’t really my boyfriend. This whole thing is fake.
Then how come standing in my kitchen with him feels so fun? How come I feel so giddy around him?
Because you like him.
I shove aside that thought and refocus. This crush I’ve developed on Nick is an inconvenient wrench tossed into our fake dating plan.
But a crush isn’t a big deal. It’s just because he’s hot and funny and kisses like a demon and looks dangerously handsome in a suit and is currently cooking me breakfast.
It’s not like I have real feelings for him.
A twinge of uncertainty flickers in my belly. I can’t. I can’t have real feelings for Nick.
The last time I had real feelings for him was in high school, and that ended in a humiliating rejection.
I shove that memory aside and refocus on him as he pours the eggs into a pan on the stove.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’ve got it under control. You should have some coffee, though.”
He nods to the coffee maker on the counter, which is full of piping hot coffee. I pour myself a mug, add a few splashes of almond milk, then take a sip. I let out a satisfied hum.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Bacon, eggs, and toast. The perfect hangover food.”
He leans down and opens the oven, where there’s a sheet tray of bacon sizzling away.
“You cook bacon in the oven?” I say.
“Yup. Best way to cook it.”
“There’s no way I’ll be able to eat that whole tray. Or that many eggs.” I look at the fun pan of eggs scrambling on the stove.
He just grins. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
I chuckle and stand at the kitchen island while sipping my coffee, watching as he cooks. He pulls a plate from the cupboard and sets it on the counter. Once he’s finished cooking, he piles everything up on a single plate and sets it on my small dining table.
“You should eat,” he says.
I sit down and dig into breakfast. “So yummy,” I say around a mouthful.
He grabs the other chair and scoots it next to me, then digs in with his own fork.
“Hitting the spot?” he asks. I nod as I chew.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes as we eat together. This is such a couple-y thing to do, share breakfast on a single plate. I try not to think about how real it feels…and how much I like it.
I eat a couple slices of bacon, a piece of toast, and not even half the eggs before I’m full.
