After I dry off, I wrap the towel around my body and head into the bedroom, which is still empty. I look at the bed, hoping he might have left me a shirt to put on, but there’s nothing.
I head down the stairs and hear a television on. Cal’s at the fridge, a container of orange juice in hand. Wearing an amused smirk, he glances over me.
“Pulp or no pulp?” he asks, shutting the fridge.
“No pulp.” I chuckle as I sit on the side of the island that’s closest to me.
“Good choice,” he says, pouring me a cup and setting it in front of me.
Before grabbing it, I secure my towel to make sure it will stay. I notice him laughing, and he shakes his head disapprovingly.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says, amused, the fridge hiding him. “How was your shower?” He at last appears with a bowl. When he sets it down, I see it contains cut-up fruit, all kinds.
“It was wonderful. I definitely have shower envy,” I admit before popping a piece of cantaloupe in my mouth.
He takes a grape, does the same, and sits across from me. I grab another piece of fruit and make sure my towel is still in place. He leans over on the island and tilts his head slightly to the right.
“You should take the towel off,” he says, his eyes beaming at me.
I bite my tongue instead of the fruit. Ugh! “What?” I laugh in disbelief at what he just said.
“What’s so funny?” he asks with a wry grin.
“It’s just how casually you said that and how serious you sounded,” I joke.
“I am serious,” he says, resting his chin in his hand. His eyes set on mine, making me shift in my seat.
“I’m sorry. I’m not going to sit in your kitchen completely naked.” I laugh off my nervousness. He can’t be serious.
He stands and walks around the counter. He’s heading toward me, and with each step, my heart pounds faster. I swallow as he rounds the corner of the island, turning in my direction, and I suddenly feel as though I’m prey and he’s the hunter. But the doorbell rings, the spell is broken, and he lets out a breath. He makes a beeline to the door, pointing at me as he walks away.
“Saved by the bell, gorgeous,” he says, a residual smile on his face. A moment later, he’s back with two containers. He hands me one before making his way to the other side of the island. “You were still asleep when I ordered, so I got pancakes and bacon, because who wouldn’t like that?”
The aroma when I open the container is tantalizing, and I have to stop myself from grabbing a piece of bacon and stuffing it in my mouth. I glance at him as he stuffs a strip of bacon in his.
As we eat, I try not to stare at him. I keep trying to figure out this enigma sitting in front of me. He’s young, but this house is decorated with the taste of someone older. He’s straightforward, but sometimes it seems as though he wants to say something but doesn’t. He’s seductive but has a boyish charm to him—well, that disappears when he squints a little and lust clouds his eyes. He’s blunt but mysterious about simple things. He seems to want me to be more assertive but is turned on by my reticence.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Ms. Brooks?” he asks, squinting at me as he finishes off his piece of toast.
“You want me to be honest?” I ask bluntly.
“Always,” he says, just as bluntly.
“I—I guess I’m trying to figure you out. This out,” I admit.
He stretches his arms over his head, and for a moment, I’m distracted by his muscular physique.
“This?” he asks.
“This whole awkward, day-after-the-night-with-a-guy-I-don’t-really-know-how-to-act-around,” I ramble.
“The only thing awkward is you trying to eat and keep that towel up.”
I frown at his playfulness then decide to lay it all out on the table. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever done this with. And I know it sounds cliché, saying I’m not that type of girl, but it’s true, and I’m not sure what the etiquette is for ‘this.’ I don’t know what to make of you. I kind of thought you’d be hiding somewhere this morning, waiting for me to leave or something.” I take a deep breath and glance at him nervously, not knowing what he’s going to do next.
“So you think I’m an asshole?” He laughs boisterously and plants his elbow on the counter. I’m caught off guard by that.
“No, I-I didn’t say that.” I’m a little embarrassed. I didn’t really consider he’d take that as an insult.
“You pretty much do, if you think I’d sleep with you then hide from you in my own house. That would make me an asshole and a coward.” He counts on his fingers with a grin.
“Okay, I’m sorry. But I’m just trying to figure you out,” I admit, feeling more than embarrassed.
“It’s okay. I’m sure this won’t be the last time you think I’m an asshole,” he says, tossing out his now-empty container.
I feel my eyebrow rise.
“Well, unless you just planned on screwing me and never calling again,” he adds with an almost-knowing smile.
This time, it’s my turn to finish up the rest of my orange juice.
“It’s not that. I just…” I let out a deep sigh. “I like you, and I’d feel a little better about myself if I knew more about you,” I tell him honestly.
He’s leaning back on the island. “Okay.” He shrugs one shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, how old are you? Um, how do you like your eggs? What’s your middle name, your favorite color, and what do you do for a living?” I say, rattling off questions to which I usually know the answers before I drop my panties for a guy.
“Twenty-six, scrambled hard, I don’t have one, black, and I am a liaison between Public Relations and Research and Development at Crestfield Corporation.” He rattles off the answers just as quickly. “Now it’s my turn. Are you always this neurotic after sex?” He laughs and my eyes widen.
“I’m not neurotic. I just—I usually know these things before I have sex with someone,” I retort.
“How many guys have you had sex with?” he asks, way too simply for such a personal question.
“Why?” I ask, feeling my defenses rise.
“It seems like you don’t have sex that often, that’s all.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a little uptight about all of this.” He chuckles, unaffected by the anger in my tone.
“You’re kind of being a jerk right now,” I say sharply, and he grins.
“I answered all of your questions, and you haven’t answered any of mine,” he counters. “I don’t feel like you’re allowing me to really know you,” he adds sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’ve been with three men, and I just had sex last night, for your info.” I say the last part equally sarcastically.
He leans over the island, his eyes narrowing on mine. In an instant, his smile has gone from playful and aloof to dangerously sexy. “How was it?” His tone has deepened, and he’s looking me directly in the eye.
My frustration with him starts to dissipate. “Amazing,” I breathe.