“Too late. This is the new standard.” He makes grabby hands at the cutting board. “Bring me my cheese, you magnificent nine point six. Actually, do you think that should be your new nickname?”
As he grins impishly up at me, I suddenly realize how much trouble I’m in.
I don’t know how I’m going to resist him.
I don’t know if I want to.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Archie
Okay, so we had incredible sex. And great cuddle time afterward.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
I mean, why shouldn’t I get some perks in the form of orgasms from the guy who broke my ankle?
Orgasms are neurologically fascinating, actually. The brain lights up like a Christmas tree during climax—the genital sensory cortex, thalamus, hypothalamus, and brainstem all firing simultaneously. It’s one of the few experiences that engages virtually every part of the brain at once.
Orgasms can even boost your immune system, increasing immunoglobulin A production.
So really, sleeping with Leo is a health decision.
Preventive medicine.
I chew on my bottom lip as I watch Leo from the kitchen doorway.
He’s standing at the stove with a look of intense concentration that I’ve previously only seen him direct at spreadsheets and misbehaving Pomeranians. There’s a mixing bowl on the counter, a carton of milk, and a bag of flour that he clearly bought just for this, since I’m fairly certain we didn’t have flour yesterday.
His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. There’s a smudge of batter on his jaw.
He’s also got a recipe pulled up on his phone. He keeps glancing at it and frowning, like the pancake batter is a client proposal that hasn’t met his standards.
“What are you doing?”
He looks up from the pan. “I’m making you pancakes. I know it’s not a Sunday, but I thought you deserved them.”
My brain stalls.
What the hell? Leo remembered the lie I told Elizabeth about our traditions and turned it into breakfast?
When in doubt, joke.
“You know, between last night and this, you’re really raising the bar for what I expect from a man. The pancakes might actually be the more impressive performance, and that’s saying something.”
“I can’t really offer my opinion,” Elizabeth says, appearing behind me like a cashmere-clad ghost. “But then I wasn’t there to judge the other one.”
Oh god.
Leo goes very still. I can see the blush starting at his collar and working upward, which is the first time I’ve ever seen his composure crack from the neck up.
Meanwhile, I’m just going to blot this moment out of my memory and pretend it never happened. I’ll file it alongside the time I accidentally called my sixth-grade teacher Mom and the time I threw up on a date’s shoes.The Archibald Mansley Archive of Moments Best Left Unexamined.
Leo’s blush has faded to just a faintly incriminating glow when he brings the pancakes over to the table.
He sits and automatically goes to slide the syrup bottle over to me before his hand stills.
I look at the syrup. He looks at the syrup. We’re both looking at the syrup with the energy of two people who have a very specific and deeply unfortunate history with this particular condiment.
