Something.
She’s in the kitchen.
My smile pops out all on its own. Didn’t prompt it myself, couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.
I don’t want to know how much of a lovesick puppy I look like, so when I use the bathroom after grabbing my pants off the bedroom floor, I avoid glancing at the mirror.
There’s a fire going in the living room, and Margot’s in the kitchen, sautéing vegetables in the same cast-iron skillet she used to attempt to maim me a week ago.
She smiles at me when I amble in.
Is that her lovesick puppy smile or just her normal smile?
Dammit.
Welcome to the overthinking show, starring me.
“Morning,” she says, her voice brighter and cheerier than the sunshine. Her hair’s clipped in a messysomethingon top of her head, and she’s in polka-dotted pajama pants that hang low on her hips, showing off a slice of her belly that her lavender tank top doesn’t cover. And—my favorite part—clearly no bra. “Do you like omelets?”
Don’t overthink it, I order myself.
As if that’s possible. On the one hand, I’m overthinking everything.
On the other, seeing her nipples poking against her tank top has my brain short-circuiting again.
I cross the kitchen to loop my arms around her from behind and press a kiss to her hair, my cock slowly waking up to the realization that there’s a pretty woman with hard nipples right here. “Mm-hmm.”
“Allergies?”
“No.”
“Aversions?”
“Being hungry.”
She laughs and wiggles her butt into me. “Better do something about that then, shouldn’t we?”
My stomach rumbles an agreement. “You made a fire?”
“Chilly mornings call for using the fireplace.”
I slide my hands up her sides. Is there nothing she can’t do? “Mm.”
“Sleep well?”
“Mm-hmm. You?”
“Like a log. Was I snoring?”
I breathe in the scent of her hair again. Me, down bad?
Clearly.
There’s no other way for me. “Wasn’t awake enough to notice.”
A timer sounds on her phone, and she hip-checks me with her whole ass, which takes my cock from half-mast to raging boner.
“Two steps back, Mr. Happy,” she says with a grin. “The biscuits are done.”
