Page 22 of Unmoored: How to Fail at Hating the Boss

I bite my lip. “Sorry. I’ve been babbling and keeping you awake.”

“You misunderstand me. I want you to keep talking because I think it’s the only thing that can get me to go to sleep tonight. Okay?”

I nod, and he, regrettably, rolls off of me and makes a little spoon out of me.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs into my shoulder.

I smile. “So I’m thinking about the theme for my classroom this year…” That will put him to sleep.

And judging by his breathing that quickly evens out as I talk about my ideas for a Lincoln Assassination timeline with so much detail that it wraps around the entire classroom, it surely does.

When I wake up the next morning solo in my bed, it’s still dark. And things are happening in the kitchen.

I smell sugar and vanilla, but most importantly, coffee. The idea that Reef is using my otherwise unused kitchen, which has been fairly untouched since my grandmother died, almost makes up for the fact that I woke up alone.

I decide to slip into the shower and get clean before he sees me, and thank god I do. When I glance in the mirror, I am horrified at my mussed hair and the makeup I never bothered to remove last night. What a wreck.

I don’t darken the doorway of the kitchen until I’m freshly scrubbed, hair done, teeth brushed, and morning breath conquered. I think I’m ready.

I’m so not ready for an all-but naked Reef in my kitchen.

Oh, baby.

He’s assembling the fully baked flag cake for me, piping on the icing and layering on perfect rows of strawberries, and wearing nothing but a towel. I would make a beeline for the coffee, but I’m waiting for my knees to recover from the sight of Reef’s tight, rounded butt wrapped in my thin bath towel.

Those weak knees of mine aren’t just about the backs of Reef’s thick thighs flashing right in my face. Or wondering how hard that knot in the towel is working. For the record: very hard. No, this feeling of weakness, this sensation of unset jello in my stomach, is also nervousness. If this is how comfortableReef is after violating each other one time with no discussions, no ground rules or boundaries, then what would he be like as a boyfriend? Or, dare I think it, a husband? It seems too good to be true that he would continue to be so kind and sexy and wonderful all at once.

Don’t I deserve that?

Sure. I deserve all of that, and I want all of that.

But with Reef? He’s my boss. We had a one-night connection. I have no expectations. Shouldn’t he be out the door, heading home to get ready for the race today?

He turns his head, sensing me standing there, staring. “G’morning,” he says, his eyes raking over me. “You’re dressed already?”

I go to the coffee machine and pour myself a cup. “Big day. I thought I’d get there early and get organized. Maybe decorate the store a little bit.”

He nods and goes back to layering the fruit on the cake. “Need some help?”

“I’m almost done here. Figured I’d get this all packed up for you and give you a ride back to your car.”

It takes two sips of coffee before that registers with me. My car. Oh. That’s right. It’s still sitting in the supermarket parking lot, and I’m an idiot. He’s not hanging around my house because he wants to do more of what we did last night, or to do husband things like make me breakfast and coffee. He was waiting for me to get up so he could get going. He got up early to make the cake, because he said he would help me, and he fulfilled his obligation.

Because Reef is a man of his word, that’s all.

The cake looks too pretty to eat when he’s done. Not half as pretty as the swirls of black fuzz on Reef’s bare chest, but we don’t need to talk about that.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling up at him. He meets my gaze and, for one too-short moment, remembers what we did last night. Where he kissed me. Where his tongue was. The way he stares at my mouth, I blush, remembering what I did to him, and the noises he made.

“It’s warm in here. Is the oven still on?”

He sort of smirks and shakes his head. “No.”

If I’m not mistaken, he’s glancing down further, and I have the feeling he can totally see my slutty little nipples through my tank top.

“Thanks again. For all the help.”