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Guy certainly wouldn’t.

Get out of my head!

This has nothing to do with Guy. I have nothing to do with Guy.

I am…going to throw up.

I run back into my bathroom and open the toilet lid. Nothing comes up but I linger just in case.

I can do this. I choose to do this.

Straightening, I try again, even whispering to my reflection, “I’m going downstairs to have hot, rebound sex.”

Before I go, I brush my teeth again because ew.

The closer I get to the kitchen, the more I question my plan.

Standing outside it, I slip Khaos’s hoodie back on. I want to have sex with Khaos but like this? Now? No. I’m in mourning. I should be in mourning. I just found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. I have wounds to lick. Scabs to pick. I can’t do that around other people, especially not Khaos, the man who notices everything.

I could pretend I’m sick. I am hungover. I’ll just get some water, a sleeve of crackers, and retreat back upstairs. If Khaos followed through and made me toast, I’ll take that, too.

A new plan in mind, I round the corner.

“I think I’m—”

The sight I walk in on stops me in my tracks. In the nineteen years I’ve lived here, the kitchen’s never looked like this before. Not without a full catering staff accompanying it.

“What are you doing?”

Now in his swim trunks—only his swim trunks—Khaos replies, “Making breakfast.”

“You said you’d make me toast.”

“I said I’d make you something.”

“This isn’t something. This is… What is this?” Bowls of all sizes take up the island and there are multiple pans on the stove. It’s also loud in here. What is that sound? A fan?

The microwave’s dark and the oven isn’t on either.

Khaos starts pointing at things.

“Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs. If you’re up for it, I thought you could help me make fruit salad.”

My head’s already in motion, shaking. “I can’t make fruit salad.”

The tiniest smile transforms Khaos’s entire face. “Yeah, you can.”

He has this way of making me believe in myself, not because I have to, but because he wants me to.

I regard the mess again.

“Actually, I was wanting to go upstairs.”

“Let’s go.” With a twist of the knobs on the stove and a push to a button above it, silencing the fan noise, he’s already on the move, ready to go with me.

“Alone.”

That smile disappears.