Page 34 of Booked on You
He crows again, this time with a dramatic pitch change at the end, like he’s trying out a new note.
“Jeez, Harry.”
I throw the covers off and sit up. My head feels foggy, and my muscles are tight as I reach over to turn on the bedside lamp. The fan overhead is doing little to circulate the heavy late-summer air. I scrub a hand over my face and place my feet on the floor.
My brain hasn’t caught up to my body yet, and my body…well, it hasn’t forgotten anything.
Our kiss is playing on repeat in my mind, along with how the firelight caught in her hair. Scarlett moved in without hesitation and parted her red-stained lips. She was so turned on, she had to take care of things.
My jaw tightens.
I get dressed in some joggers and a T-shirt, then make my way downstairs, hoping the coffee will jolt my thoughts into a different dimension.
As soon as my feet hit the bottom stair, I see Willow staring out the windows overlooking the backyard. She turns her head like she’s surprised to see me, but then hops down to greet me with a lazy meow. Sometimes, it feels like she and Harry are in cahoots. When she’s hungry, she sends the cat signal, and he crows like an asshole. I feed her, then start my everyday routine.
The familiar hiss and sputter from the coffee maker fills the space, but it doesn’t cut the tension bubbling beneath my skin. I lean against the counter, staring out at the garden, as the machine gurgles through the last of the brew. The cottage is dark, and the curtains are drawn. The moon is still up, even though the sun will rise in an hour.
I wonder how late she stayed up last night, and if she did any writing after she touched herself while thinking of me. Today, I choose a yellow mug and fill it midway before I add a splash of milk to cool it down.
As I take several gulps, three knocks tap on the back door.
I don’t need to check to know it’s her. Still, I take my time crossing the kitchen, and a smirk instantly touches my lips. When I open the door, Scarlett’s standing there, barefoot in pajama bottoms and a Nirvana T-shirt that looks like it’s seen better days. Her hair is pulled up in that intentional mess she tries to pass off as effortless. When I glance down at her hands,I see she’s holding her new mug, fingers wrapped tightly around the curve.
“I come begging for caffeine,” she says, lifting the cup a little. “Pretty, pretty please?”
I glance down at the mug, then back up at her. “You never have to beg.”
“Great.” Her green eyes are bright as she steps past me.
“Did Harry wake you up?” I ask.
“Actually, yes,” she says, and it makes me grin. I’ll have to feed him extra scratch later.
Our arms brush, and I know it’s too damn early for this teasing.
“You were right, though. His crow really is fucked up.”
She fills her mug.
“Careful, I made it extra strong,” I warn.
The sweet scent of her skin envelops me.
“That’s perfect. I need a boost after last night,” she says, blowing on the liquid. I refill my cup, knowing what she was doing after we went our separate ways.
Her gaze drifts away from me, like she’s trying to stop herself from eye fucking me. I think we both know it’s too late for that.
Whatever is going on between us is a runaway train.
“Would you like to join me for breakfast?”
She looks up, surprised by the offer. “That’s a lot of trouble.”
“I was gonna make eggs, and maybe some cheesy grits.”
She tilts her head, lips curving. “I’m honestly not a breakfast person. Coffee is enough. Usually.”
Before she can protest, I grab two slices of sourdough and slide them into the toaster. She eyes me but doesn’t say anything.
