“You barely held yourself upright. Surprisingly, it didn’t stop you kicking or throwing your fists. I took you home, but you couldn’t find your keys, and your phone was dead.” He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, and I notice a few more, smaller, scratches and bruises. “I figured I could either bring you here or leave you on the doormat.”
“I’m really sorry. I’m not usually like that, I swear. I bet you regret bringing me here.”
“Not really. You stopped throwing punches when I put you in the cab, but you did run your mouth almost the whole journey back. You’re very creative once you get going... plonker, nutter, wazzock, tosser, pillock, and my personal favorite: daft git. The cab driver couldn’t stop laughing when you told him I were taking the piss.”
I hide a smile behind the cup, the glint in Colt’s eyes contagious and helping to quell my embarrassment. “All I can do is apologize.”
“I don’t need apologies. It was quite the experience.” He turns to flip the bacon. “Sit down. Breakfast won’t be long.”
“Can I help?”
“No, I’ve got it. If you want to do something, lose the fake accent. I like the British one better.”
“I don’t like hiding it but it’s exhausting when every person I meet goes ‘oh, I love your accent’ then proceeds to mimic it with some kind of ‘Gor blimey, guvnor’ fake cockney nonsense.”
Colt chuckles. “I promise not to try.” He pulls two plates from the cabinet above his head and, a moment later, sets one filled with eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, and toast before me. “As requested, a traditional English breakfast.”
I grab my fork, ready to dig in. “Irequestedbreakfast?” I start with the eggs and bacon, both cooked to perfection.
“Demandedpaints a clearer picture.” He sits opposite me, starting with a bite of sausage that he promptly spits back out. “Yeah... don’t eat that.”
“Why?” I lean over the plate, inhaling. “It smells fine. What’s wrong with it?”
“Tastes like cardboard: the only British sausages I could find in the store this morning.”
I chuckle, taking a bite. “They’re not that bad, a bit overcooked, but edible. You’re just not used to British cuisine.”
“Clearly.” He loads the egg onto his toast, pushing the plate aside. “Now you’re sober, I have some questions.”
“Um, okay, fire away.”
“What exactly do you expect from your fake boyfriend?”
The fork slides out of my grasp, clanking against the plate and sending a splatter of tomato juice into my face and over the pristine, white t-shirt I’m wearing.
I’m hit by a flashback from last night of my wailing into the table about Grant, my mother, and living on a farm with many mini-Grants.
“God... I forgot I told you, and—” I look up, meeting his amused gaze. “Your brothers were there...”
“They were. So? Care to share more details?”
“You can’t be serious. You... you want to do it? Why?”
He shrugs, jaw set tight. “I have my reasons. And I didn’t say I would. Not until I know what I’m signing up for.”
“Is it the money? How much did I promise? I only have fifteen grand right now and—” I gesture around. “You don’t look short on cash.”
He smirks, grabbing our plates and setting them beside the sink. “I don’t want your money, Addie.”
“Thenwhatdo you want?” I snap, jumping to my feet. “Did I... did I... did I promise yousex?” I pale further when another thought strikes, and suddenly I’m hyperventilating. “Did we... oh, God, we had sex last night, didn’t we? I promised you more?”
His entire demeanor changes in a flash. From casual and relaxed to so unsettled his hands are shaking.
“You were drunk off your fucking mind!” he seethes, his voice powerful enough to make me shudder as he beats his fist against the counter, anger radiating off him like a storm in full glory. A category five hurricane. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you begged. I took you home sono onewould fucking touch you.” His chest heaves as he squeezes his neck, staring me down, his composure snapping back into place. “We didn’t have sex. Is that clear?”
I’m stunned into silence, no longer hyperventilating. No longer breathing at all, my eyes so wide it feels like they’ll pop out of place any second.
“I’m sorry,” I stutter, finding my voice. “I didn’t mean to imply... I’m sorry, it came out wrong.”
