Once alone, I hurled myself back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The air was heavy with our smell, the sheet infused with his masculine odor.
I brought it up to my nose and breathed in his fresh, clean smell.
I had the same one on my skin, and if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have washed it off.
It was the only thing I wanted to smell on my skin.
There were times when I feared what I felt for him. My emotions were so powerful and uncontrollable that they often had me doing the most irrational things.
Sighing heavily, I searched around in the bed for my bra and panties. After I slipped them back on, I left as well and headed for the living room.
The air was cool in the penthouse, so walking around half-dressed wasn’t a great idea. When I spotted Neil’s thick sweater abandoned on thesofa, I picked it up and shrugged it on. It was white, at least three times my size, and it went down all the way to my knees.
I rummaged briefly in the refrigerator, the pantry, and on the shelves in search of something to put in my stomach. I found a half gallon of milk and a few coffee pods that went in the coffee machine.
“Great, no breakfast,” I muttered to myself and heard my stomach growl in protest.
What was there to do? After all, nobody was living in the apartment; obviously there wouldn’t be any food there. What had I been expecting to find?
My mother’s famous pancakes?
Or maybe some of her cherry pie?
I snorted at myself as I instead simply heated up the milk for myself and made a cup of plain black coffee for Neil.
I recalled that he didn’t really eat breakfast.
When I was done, I sat down with my big cup of milk and blew on it so I wouldn’t burn my mouth.
A few moments later, Neil appeared, wearing just his jeans. I looked him up and down in fascination, lingering over the toki on his bicep just as I’d done in bed with his pikorua. Those were the only two tattoos Neil had, but they both meant something to him and suited him perfectly.
“I made you black coffee, just the way you like it. There isn’t anything else.” I wrapped my fingers around my mug to warm them. He moved closer, passing a hand through his wet hair, and stared fixedly at me. I cocked my head to one side, trying to figure out what he was looking at when suddenly I remembered his sweater and gasped.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was cold, and I just put it on without asking your permission; that’s probably not cool with you, and that’s reasonable… I can take it off right now if you want?” I said, all in one breath. After he’d rejected my advances earlier, all I needed was a good long dressing-down from him to complete my humiliation that morning. But Neil just gave a thoughtful blink, not looking angry at all, just confused and maybe surprised?
“Keep it. I just turned the heater on. All you had to do was ask,” he answered shortly, sitting down across from me. He sipped his coffee anddidn’t thank me for making it or even pay me much attention at all as he got his phone out of his pocket and started texting with some mystery person.
Seriously?
I was there with him after dealing with a long flight and a nearly sleepless night, and he thought he could just ignore me?
I still felt like I’d been hit by a car after the night before and he was chatting with someone else? Worst-case scenario, chatting with another woman.
I tried to reel some of the paranoia back in—I was getting too jealous, too possessive of him. But with Neil, I lived in constant fear of losing him. I gulped my milk down quickly out of nerves and just kept staring at him. Meanwhile, he messed around on his phone, presumably waiting for whoever it was to respond and occasionally typing something in return.
Great…he was super interested in his conversation. “Neil,” I called out, setting the cup down hard on the kitchen island. He didn’t even dignify the gesture with a look, so I tried again. “Neil!” I was more assertive that time, and his lovely golden eyes shifted from the phone screen to me. Once I had his attention, I should have been firm and decisive. Instead, my mouth just fell silently open, unable to ask him the questions I really wanted to ask.
“Where are we going this morning?” I asked him finally, my voice uncertain. He creased up his forehead, and then, having decided my question was trivial, he went right back to his phone, sliding his thumb rapidly across the screen.
“To a place,” was all he said as he finished his coffee.
The thought of just getting up and peering over his shoulder at the phone did cross my mind, but I discarded it.
I wasn’t good at that kind of thing—I would have gotten busted immediately.
“Okay. Should I get ready now, then?” I went on.
“Yeah, the sooner you get a move on, the better,” he said, terse and annoyed.
