Too Good To Be True
Kacey Musgraves
I wake a little bit at a time.Not all at once, but in pieces, my legs tangled in warm sheets.Cold air drifting from somewhere beyond the bedroom, the distant hum of the city below.But the best part is the lingering scent of Hayden everywhere around me.It’s whiskey and soap and clean cotton, plus something darker underneath that belongs only to him.
My eyes stay closed for another second while I stretch lazily beneath the blankets, one leg twisting deeper in the sheets as memory rushes back in fragments.The game room.His mouth against my throat.The way he looked at me when he admitted he was happy.God.
Heat curls low in my stomach all over again.I roll onto my side reaching an arm out for him and stop.The bed beside me is empty.A strange little ache catches me off guard before I can stop it.Not panic exactly.Just an awareness that I’m not familiar with.It takes me a second, but then I listen and smile at what I hear.
Soft music.The faint clink of dishes.The quiet rustle of what I think are newspaper pages being turned.My mouth curves before I can stop it.Of course Hayden still reads an actual newspaper.
I push myself upright, blinking against the soft late-morning light filtering through the windows.My clothes from last night are scattered somewhere between the hallway and his living room so I have no idea what to wear.After a brief glance around the bedroom, I spot one of his white button-ups draped over a chair near the windows.I pad over to it and I slide it on.
The fabric hangs loose around my body, sleeves swallowing my hands while the hem brushes to the top of my thighs.I lower my nose to the collar and inhale.It smells like him.Which feels far more dangerous than it should.
The apartment is quieter this morning than it was yesterday somehow.It’s much softer and feels less like a carefully controlled space and more like somewhere lived in.Like maybe I changed the atmosphere just by sleeping here.
I find Hayden in the kitchen exactly the way I imagined him.Reading glasses perched on his nose.Dark lounge pants hanging low on his hips.A crisp white t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders.
One arm propped against the marble counter while he scans the financial section like a man twice his age.Coffee steams beside him.Two silver serving covers over large plates sit on the island.
And honestly, the sight of Hayden Sloane standing barefoot in his kitchen reading the newspaper might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.His eyes lift before I can say anything, and immediately soften.There’s still something surreal about that; about being the reason Hayden softens.
“Well.”His gaze drags over me, lingering on the bare skin of my legs below his shirt.“That’s distracting.”
I lean against the doorway.“You wear glasses.”
“They help me see.”
“They’re helping me reconsider my plans for this morning.”I chew on my bottom lip to try and contain a smile as a low laugh slips from him.He folds the paper neatly and sets it aside.Good lord.Nicole was right.I’m in so much trouble.
Hayden pushes away from the counter and crosses toward me, one hand sliding around my waist the second he reaches me.His touch is warm and steady, claiming but in the most perfect way.“You slept in.”
“I was exhausted for some reason.”
“You did exert a fair amount of energy last night.”
“I believe I was simply following your lead.”The corner of my mouth lifts.
“I’ll take the blame if it makes it easier for you.”
A small smirk forms on his beautiful mouth and I laugh against his lips when he kisses me, slow and warm and entirely too familiar already.And somehow that still doesn’t scare me as much as it probably should.Not anymore.
His hand settles against the small of my back while he studies my face for another quiet second.“You hungry?”
“Starving.”My stomach grumbles as if on cue.
“I ordered breakfast.”
“Of course you did.”I grin as I shake my head.
He guides me toward the island with a hand at my back, but there’s something noticeably different about it this morning.The gesture is still protective.Still very much Hayden, but lighter somehow.Like he’s paying attention to how he touches me now.Like he’s trying.The realization lands quiet inside my chest, and matters far more than I think he realizes.
Hayden lifts the silver covers one at a time.Scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, fresh fruit, French toast, and perfectly crisp bacon.I stare at the spread.“Are you feeding me or preparing me for hibernation?”
“You said you were starving.”
“This could feed a small village.”I chuff out a small laugh.
