What a smile it is too.
Okay, this may not be a romance novel, but I clearly have a little crush.
I just have to remember this is reality and keep it under control.
The next morning, I’m up before Willa, so I decide to make us breakfast.
As I pad around the kitchen in bare feet, the sweats I slept in hanging low but my loose T-shirt keeping me decent, I think about my new roommate.
I like that girl; there’s no denying it. I had a fun time hanging out by the pool with her last night. We had a little bit of a moment there, but thankfully the lightning and thunder put a stop to it.
That was fortuitous, because I really would like for us to be friends. Hell, I wouldn’t even want to start anything romantic with her. What I told her is true—those types of relationships always go sideways for me.
So, yeah, friends it is.
I just wish I wasn’t so fucking attracted to her. It’s not just Willa’s beauty and fantastic body that captivate me. I think she’s cute and funny and great to hang out with as well.
“Just stop now,” I scold myself as I crack an egg into the skillet I just placed on the stove. “Focus on making breakfast.”
That’s what I do, and before long, I’ve thrown together a feast of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, mini blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, and toast.
“Oh my God, what smells so good?” I hear Willa say from the doorway.
I glance over from where I’m shoveling eggs onto a plate and watch her walk into the kitchen. As she plops down in a chair at the table, I notice she’s wearing the same outfit she had on last night.
I guess she was so tired that she crashed before she had time to change. Hell, I barely made it out of my clothes and into my sweats myself.
Clearing my throat, I focus back on plating the food and say, “Since I was up before you, I made us breakfast.”
“Wow, that was really nice,” she replies. “Thank you.”
Still focused on my task at hand, I go on. “I hope you like scrambled eggs and bacon. But if not, I made blueberry pancakes too.”
“Yum,” she says. “It all sounds good. I think I’ll have a little bit of everything, if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” I say, chuckling. I glance over at her and smile. Her strawberry blonde hair is up on her head in a messy bun, and she looks über cute right now. “Do you want toast too?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes, please.”
I like a girl with a healthy appetite. I just hope she enjoys my food.
I resume filling our plates, and then I bring both over to the table. I already put filled glasses of orange juice at our place settings earlier, so we’re set there.
“Breakfast is served,” I say in a formal tone as I place her plate in front of her.
She breathes in deeply. “Shane, this smells and looks so delicious.”
As I take a seat at the table with her, I say, “Hopefully, it’ll taste just as good.”
“I’m sure it will,” she murmurs as she takes a small bite of the scrambled eggs. A beat later, her bright green eyes widen,and after she swallows, she points her fork at the plate and says, “Holy crap, these eggs are next-level.”
I can’t help but feel proud. “Thank you,” I say. “My mom actually taught me how to make them nice and fluffy. It’s a family secret, though,” I tease. “So I can’t tell you.”
“Understood,” she says, laughing. “As long as you promise to make them again sometime, I won’t try to get it out of you.”
Chuckling, I assure her, “That I can do.”
After she takes a bite of crispy bacon, she clears her throat, then asks me, “So, where are you from originally? Like, where did you grow up?”
