Page 28 of Left In The Dark

He smacks his lips together, his face full of disgust. “You got a spare toothbrush?”

“Maybe. My mom’s one of those crazed couponers. If we do, it’ll be in the cabinet below the sink in the bathroom.”

He looks at the bedroom door and back at me. “Is it out there?”

“Yeah. In the hall. Don’t worry, my mom’s at her new job this morning. It’s just us.”

He lowers his gaze, tugging the shirt down his hips as he lifts the blanket. “Where are my clothes?”

“In the washer. They were pretty gross after you vomited up all the food you ate yesterday,” I say gruffly, sitting up.

Grabbing onto the bed, he steadies himself on his feet, and catches himself when he almost falls right in my lap. A blush creeps up his cheeks, only growing as his eyes travel over the tattoos on my chest.

“That’s a lot of ink.”

“Yeah.” Shrugging, I look down, spreading my legs under my blanket. “Not the only place I have them either.”

His eyes bulge and I laugh as he falls back on his ass. The shirt rides up his thighs, the sorry excuse for underwear peeking from below along with half his right ass cheek. I close my legs tightly together, hating myself for the buzz shooting through me. I mean, a hot piece of ass is a hot piece of ass, right? My body would react this way to almost any half‑naked man.

Looking away from me, he gets up again and wobbles to the bathroom, and I dress in a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt before he returns. His hair is flatter against his head, no longer flying in different directions, and he looks more awake. “You were right.” He chuckles, crossing his feet. “She has like ten unopened packs under there. Lots of shampoo and soap too.”

My smile comes easier than it ever has with him, and it’s the mention of my mom’s shenanigans that really does it. “Sounds about right. You hungry? I can fix us some eggs on toast. You might feel better after you eat something.”

“Yeah. Some toast and coffee might help me sober up the rest of the way.”

“Yeah. Usually does the trick for me. I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer too.”

He follows me to the kitchen, sitting in the first chair he comes across. I turn the stove on, greasing the pan and cracking four eggs when it’s hot enough. While they cook, I load the dryer and turn the coffee pot on.

“I guess I’d be asking too much if I requested a cappuccino, huh?” He wiggles in his seat, cocking a brow.

“I’m afraid your only choices are black or with cream and sugar.” I lean against the counter, adding water at the top.

“Cream and sugar it is, then. Lots of it. Preferbly dairy free if you got it.”

“What’s even the point of drinking coffee, then,” I mutter. “And we have coconut milk.”

“It’s still caffeine, that’s fine.”

“Barely,” I grind out, flipping the eggs. “Hope over easy is okay.”

“Yeah. I’ll eat just about anything right now.” He lifts his head, sniffing the air.

“Anything, huh?”

His face flushes and he looks down at the table, twisting his shirt with his hands—or should I say my shirt. Which I don’t want to admit looks good on him by the way. He doesn’t look as bad sitting in my kitchen as he should either. I plate the eggs, adding bread to the toaster before filling two mugs of coffee. Setting his in front of him, I point at where the creamer and sugar are before taking the seat across from him.

He gives me a look of surprise and then slowly stands up from his chair. His steps are slow at first, and then he moves faster when the toast is ready, grabbing that for himself too.

When he begins to set one on my plate, I shake my head, pushing at his hand. “You can have both. You need it more than me.”

“Thanks,” he says, almost too quietly, sitting back in his chair. We both eat without so much as a word between us, sipping our drinks in between stuffing our faces. Blake rinses his plate after me and sets it in the dishwasher next to mine, doing the same with the rest of his dishes. As he’s about to sit back down, I grab his arm, dark thoughts stirring inside me. Wanting to test out how much control I have, I hook my other fingers around his chin when he looks back at me.

“Drop to your knees.”

His breaths stutter. “Here?”

“Yes. Right where I’m telling you to do it.”