“But I have to. Who is she?” I snuggled into his armpit. “But I think I’m still going to freak out. Oscar is going to murder me.”
“He will not,” Jude assured me. “And don’t freak out. If you have to freak out, freak out in the morning,” he said and yawned, as if he hadn’t just dropped the bombshell of my life. He cuddled me closer.
“I’m freaking out,” I said, outlining the ridge of his bare pec with my finger.
“Sleep now. Freak out in the morning,” Jude suggested again.
“I don’t think I can sleep.”
“Try closing your eyes first. That helps.”
I yawned. I was damn tired.
“I’m not going to sleep,” I said, determined.
“Not if you don’t try,” Jude teased.
“And anyway, I’ll definitely be freaking out in the morning. I’ll probably just sneak out in the middle of the night. I don’t do well with commitment.”
“I’m not asking for commitment,” Jude said as he tugged me closer and kissed the top of my head. “And don’t sneak out. I was going to make an omelet in the morning.”
“I love omelets,” I said, feeling that wasn’t fair. My eyelids grew heavy. Jude’s body heat was warm and soothing, like milk before bed. “But I still could freak out.”
“Sleep now. Freak out tomorrow,” he said.
And then the second I closed my eyes, I was fast asleep.
I woke with a start to an empty bed. Jude’s bed. His robe was on a hook on the back of his door. Weak early dawn light filtered in from the window. The open door of his closet revealed half-zip sweaters organized by color and his designer sneakers locked away in clear stacks of plastic boxes. The man was neater than Oscar, and that was saying something. I was absolutely naked, and as much as I’d promised Jude a freak-out this morning, I actually didn’t feel much like freaking out.
I’d had a top-three orgasm the night before, if not best, and I could smell a delicious breakfast wafting up from the kitchen. Jude was down there cooking me breakfast. And I actually didn’t want to sneak out the back door. Odd.
I lay sprawled on his bed, wondering what it would be like to wake up here, morning after morning, sunlight spilling in through his wooden blinds, the sound of him whistling a tune off-key as he clanged pots and pans downstairs.
Me and Dr. Cheese? Could it even work? Did I want it to work? And why was I even thinking about anything working, when I never thought that far ahead?
My phone pinged. A message from Russo.
Headed back today. See you tonight. Dinner?
Russo. I felt a pang of guilt. I’d forgotten about him. I’d fallen into bed with Jude and completely forgotten about Russo for the entire night. What did that say about me? That I was a woman with needs, dammit, and that Oscar should know better than to make something forbidden, because the more you deny me something, the more I want it.
Plus, Russo was the one who left me to my own devices.Reluctantly, I pulled myself from bed, ran a comb through my hair, and dressed in the clothes Olivia had helpfully put in my overnight bag. This time, she’d blessed me with anI’M KENOUGHpink Barbie hoodie, as well as some stretchy leggings and matching pink furry socks. I brushed my teeth, because I’m not a monster, and then I headed down to see what smelled so damn good.
I saw Jude in his 1950s white-and-red kitchen, wearing a red apron over his gray half-zip and jeans, looking more delicious than the omelet in his pan.
“Hey, El,” Jude said in a way that warmed me from the inside out. He looked at my shirt and raised his eyebrows. “Are we going to talk about the sweatshirt?”
“Talk to Olivia. It’s hers.”
Jude chuckled, and I did, too.
“Why are you dressed like you’re going to a banker’s meeting?”
Jude glanced at me. “Because I have to be in the office in two hours. Technically for a banker’s meeting. The lab needs funding.”
“Cheese lab falling on hard times in Wisconsin? I’m shocked.”
Jude shrugged. “The angry dairy farms lobbied to get our state funding cut, so now we’re working on other options.”
