I nod. “My shift isn’t until seven tonight.”
“I always eat before work because I get so busy when I have a design project that I usually forget lunch,” she says. “Which is actually very cost efficient when you’re on a tight budget, trying to keep the house and paying down medical debt.”
I can’t even imagine what it must have cost for all the operations she’s had. Our eyes connect and she shakes her head. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you feel sorry for me. I hate that look. I’m doing fine,” Chloe says and smiles. “Just tell me if you like French toast.”
“Love it.”
“Throw something on and meet me downstairs,” she says and leaves the bathroom.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” I call out.
“Lucky for you, no shirt, no shoes, and I’ll still give you service,” she calls back, and I hear her feet on the stairs. I smile to myself. This girl feels so easy.
I wander back into the bedroom and grab my underwear and jeans off the floor. I pull them both on, leaving the button on my jeans undone because I’m lazy. I head downstairs. She’s standing with the fridge door open, blocking her from my view for a second, so I’m confused and concerned when she says, “I’m okay, I promise. I’m just angry and completely fed up. I need you to talk to him. I don’t have the money to hire another lawyer and fight him, but this is harassment.”
Then she turns away from the fridge, her arms laden with items for French toast and her head tilted because she’s got her cell pressed between her shoulder and her ear. The expression on her face before she notices me is dark and serious. But when she sees me, she smiles and I walk over to help her so she doesn’t drop anything in her arms.
As I place milk and eggs on the kitchen island, she puts bacon and butter down on the counter and unhooks a frying pan from the rack above the island. I can’t help but notice the way my shirt lifts when she reaches for it, revealing the perfect curve of her ass, which makes me remember how it felt in my palm, and I have to adjust the front of my jeans.
“I have to make breakfast before I get started on this new project, so can we discuss this more later, Denny?” She glances at me again and gives me another quick smile that feels a little tight. “Okay. Thanks. Talk soon. Bye.”
She puts the phone down on the counter.
“Who’s Denny?”
“Sorry about that. I had called him yesterday, and he was following up,” she says and pauses. “Denny is, was, my brother-in-law.”
She’s opened the bacon and is pulling out long strips to lay in the pan, and I wait for more information, but she doesn’t offer it. So I press. “Chloe? I didn’t intend to overhear, but I did. Who is harassing you?”
She sighs and seems conflicted as her eyes lift to mine. “Jackson’s older brother Paul wants this house. And I won’t give it to him. He harasses me about it a couple times a year, and I tell Denny about it so he can rein him in.”
“Why does he want your house?”
“It was Jackson’s grandmother’s house originally, and so he thinks it should still be in the family.”
I try to put together all the pieces she’s tossing out in a verbal heap.
She stops me, holding up a hand between us. “Can we change the subject? I mean…I feel like we should keep things light, and my past is heavier than a pregnant elephant.”
I can’t help but laugh at her analogy. She hugs me, and I gladly accept it, wrapping my arms around her waist and allowing my hands to slide to that perfect ass again.
“Okay, sure,” I say, but the fact is, I want to know everything about her. I am about to ask for clarification on her term ‘light’ because I’m worried she also means casual and this relationship is already anything but casual for me. Besides, I don’t do casual sex anymore. It wasn’t fulfilling when I did do it, and I doubt that has changed.
But before I can say anything, she turns back to the stove. “I hope you like crispy bacon.” She uses tongs to lift the bacon from the pan and place them on the paper towel.
“I love crispy bacon,” I assure her and walk up behind her, kissing the side of her neck again. I decide my clarification can wait until later. I want to enjoy this moment too.
She smiles. “Can you grab the bread out of the bread box?”
I glance around her kitchen and spot the bread box by the microwave. I open it and find sourdough and pull it out. For the next several minutes, we form a French toast assembly line in content silence. I cut and dip the bread in the egg mixture, and she fries them up. Although, as she moves around the kitchen in my t-shirt with her slender legs exposed, I’m starting to get hungry for something else again too.
A few minutes later we’re both biting into delicious French toast slathered in real maple syrup, and it’s incredible. Her tongue darts out to lick some of the syrup from her lip and my dick seems to take notice, jerking a little in my jeans. “Oh! I forgot the OJ,” she says.
“I’ll get it,” I volunteer because I need a distraction from staring at her as she eats and gives me a hard on. If I’m not careful, I’m going to lay her out on the island and take what’s between her legs for dessert. And as much as I’d love nothing more—and she would likely enjoy the hell out of it—that inner voice I had last night saying to take things slow is back. I hope to have a very long time to explore her body and worship it the way it deserves. And I don’t want to make her late for work when she needs the paycheck so badly.
