I groan.
Focus, Oliver! The smoke.
I pull back, out of reach of his eager mouth.
“What— Oh, fuck!” He turns and switches the stove off. “You, sir, are distracting as fuck,” he says, his eyes smiling.
I’m breathing so loud that it’s the only sound in the house. I slide off the counter, mostly to hide my embarrassing erection.
“It’s all your fault,” I point out. “What were you making anyway?” I look at the brown sludge in the pan.
“Scrambled eggs,” he says, scratching his neck.
I hip check him away from the stove. I throw the burnt eggs and soak the pan in the sink. I find a second pan and get started on breakfast.
When I have eggs on the stove, Matt comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Is there anything you do that isn’t insanely sexy?” he whispers against my neck.
“See, you’re the distraction here,” I try to shake him off…not very hard.
He tightens his grip, continuing to move his lips over me. He inhales.
Fuck, that’s hot. And the man thinks my actions are sexy?
I try my best to focus on the pan while his lips softly caress my skin. When he moves to the back of my neck, I almost dropthe spatula. He hums against me, acknowledging my reaction.
Okay, this needs to stop. “Matt,” I try for a stern voice, but it comes out as something between a whine and a moan.
“Alright, alright, make your precious breakfast,” he says, dropping a final kiss on my neck before standing beside me. He folds his hands over his chest as if he needs extra measures to comply. At least, he’s still smiling.
Once I’m done, we have breakfast on his couch. We talk about random things, like work and people in the building. He tries to ask me about what happened yesterday, but I quickly change the topic.
The thing is, now that I’ve decided to leave the entire thing behind, my mind is awfully reluctant to open the chapter again.
It’s so weird because until yesterday, Dalton took up most of my mental space. And now I don’t even want to give it a single thought. It might be the shock and fear from yesterday talking, but I just can’t think about it right now. Not when I feel so sated, happy, and safe here with Matt.
“I got you a gift,” Matt says hesitantly, taking our dishes to the sink.
“Me too!” I say excitedly. I thought a lot about what to get him. I didn’t want it to be anything serious or remotely commitment-y. I think he’ll like what I settled on. And not in a ‘what do you think we’re doing here?' way, which is what’s important.
He smiles. “Okay, let’s exchange before we start preparing for the party,” he suggests.
“Yes, I’ll go grab it and change while I’m there,” I laugh, awkwardly motioning at the clothes hanging on my body.
Matt looks me over in one slow, consuming sweep that makes my skin heat everywhere. “Or you can just wear this untilpeople are due to arrive. Or even after that,” he says, his voice throaty.
“Yeah, not unless we want to serve the guests ramen.”
He laughs sheepishly.
After a cold shower to clear my head, I return to his apartment with the gift. Matt must’ve had the same idea because his hair is wet when he opens the door.
We sit on his couch again, not touching. Because priorities.
He hands me a neatly wrapped package that is clearly a book. I internally sigh in relief. Not a serious gift then. I open it up carefully, keeping in mind how nicely he’s wrapped it.
I gasp when I see the cover. An old copy ofMastering the Art of French Cookingby Julia Child.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!
