He grins and his dimples sink deep when he sees that I have on his shirt and nothing else.
“I can cook French toast. My mom used to sit Noelle and me on the counter, and we would stir the eggs and dip the bread into the mixture. Dad has a picture of us in the kitchen. So I’m not sure if I actually remember it or if the picture is my memory.”
I watch him crack the eggs, whisking them with practiced ease. There’s something so natural about it. Watching him like this.
Not on a field.
Not performing.
Just being him.
He sets up a row of small bowls on the table.
Strawberries.
Blueberries.
Chocolate chips.
Powdered sugar.
“You made a toppings bar?” I ask. “What a host.”
“I’m a man that loves options.”
“Hmm… not sure I like a man with options.” Because I don’t want to be an option.
He plates the first two and hands me the syrup as he leans down and kisses me under the ear. “I love having the option of whether to kiss you, eat you or fuck you.”
My breath catches so hard, I can’t swallow and tingles race through my body. I think I like a little dirty talk.
“That’s thoughtful,” I squeak out. I shake my head smiling like a damn cartoon cat.
I can feel the connection. It’s strong, which is its own problem.
After I dress my French toast, I bite into it. It’s crispy on the outside, fried to perfection and soft on the inside. I’m beginning to see that the outside is what Parker showed me in college and the inside is who he is deep down.
“You put all the toppings on,” he says, like I should only choose one.
“Well, Mr. O’Ryan, I like to have variety.”
“Touché,” he says as he steals a strawberry from my plate.
“Hey that’s mine.”
“I can tell you’re an only child. You want things to fit neatly inside a box and you don’t like to share.”
“I can share,” I say as I feed him another strawberry from my fingers.
He wraps his lips around my fingers and pulls the strawberry with his tongue. “You have a skilled tongue, Mr. O’Ryan,” I let my thoughts slip out unexpectedly.
He wiggles his eyebrows, flashes his smile on high beams, showing his dimples. “Do I?”
My pale skin turns an embarrassing shade of hot pink. All I can think is how this could end so badly if he finds out the whole truth. But I’m going to ride this out as long as it lasts. Maybe, I’ll get to the point where I can say the rest aloud. I shove these thoughts from my mind, wanting to enjoy our time together.
The sun hasn’t even come up by the time we’ve finished breakfast.
As a professional athlete, Parker has a strict schedule, and I hope I’m not getting in the way. But my first appointment isn’t for a couple of hours still.
