Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I wrap my lips around my fork and stuff my mouth with the ultimate bite of eggs Benny. There’s a bit of English muffin, bacon, poached egg, and the hollandaise sauce that Xander made. From scratch.
“Goddamn it,” I say, through an unsolicited groan, conceding.
Xander quirks his eyebrow up at me as I swallow my bite. “I’m going to need you to say it out loud.”
“I’m only going to say this once—and if you ever dare bring this up in front of Emily, I will deny—but this is the best eggs Benedict I’ve ever had,” I say, watching him over the rim of my coffee cup.
He’s shirtless. His hair is mussed. His face is relaxed.
Getting laid suits him. The ache between my legs reminds me it suits me, too.
There’s no denying it. Xander is a sexual magician, and there’s a small part of me that kicks myself for missing out on this if only I’d stayed eleven years ago.
The sex. The breakfast. The banter.
The comfortable silences. The uncontrollable laughter.
But the smug expression that spreads over Xander’s face reminds me that he’s the reason why my rules exist in the first place.
He makes me feel. And feelings are bad.
I did myself a solid when I commando crawled out eleven years ago, I remind myself.
“Knew it,” Xander says, as he interlaces his fingers behind his head and leans back, like he’s the man. I shake my head, trying to keep my mouth in a straight line, but I can’t. He’s the exact amount of ridiculous that reels me in.
“All right, calm down,” I say through a laugh. “It’s just breakfast.” I say it before I even realize the double entendre that fills the silence between us. I hold my breath as I wait for Xander to reply.
He leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, elbows on the table. “This isn’t just breakfast,” he says, staring me down.
Fuck. I am not prepared to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not yet. My heart rate picks up at what he’s suggesting.
“This is a victory for the ages,” he says, mock serious.
I bite my bottom lip at the banter, loosening immediately.
The way Xander knows when to be serious and when to completely mess with me doesn’t go unnoticed.
It’s like he can read me. It’s like he knows me.
It’s like he—I don’t know. He makes it easy to keep him around.
“You’ve been waiting to gloat for eleven years?” I say, teasing. “That’s depressing.”
“Depressing or strategic?”
“Deliciously depressing,” I say, picking up my fork and holding it out as evidence for just how delicious his victory is.
“What can I say, I play the long game,” he says, sincere now. I know exactly what he’s implying. It doesn’t matter what happened between our first night and an hour ago. He wants me more than just sex. And I am choosing to ignore it.
Xander drains the last of his coffee. I glance down at his plate. It’s completely empty.
This could warrant the end.
And still, I have no desire to commando crawl out of here, even though the moment I finish chewing my mouthful would be the perfect timing for Xander to walk back out my door and leave.
Sure, I’ll see him at the sleep study tonight. I just know it won’t be awkward. Xander has had a front row seat to all of me over these past three weeks and he’s still sitting here. With me.
By the end of the sleep study—if I want—we could be waving goodbye for good.
This could all be so civil.
And yet, we are beyond that.
His eyes flicker to my lips right before a smile spreads across his face.
I reach up to wipe my mouth. “Do I have egg jizz on my face?”
“Egg jizz?” Xander says, delighted at my description of hollandaise sauce. His whole face lights up. And I mentally draw the number next to my name, like I’m the one who’s won by making him smile like that.
“That’s what my one and only attempt at making hollandaise looked like,” I say, scrunching up my nose.
“You know, that is a very accurate description,” he says, still smiling. “But no, you do not have egg jizz on your face.”
“Then why are you staring at me?”
“I’m just in awe.”
“What’d I do?” I say innocently as I trace my tongue along my lip just to watch his reaction.
“You know exactly what you did,” he says, his eyes flashing dark like he’s accessing a memory and it’s not from eleven years ago. More like an hour ago.
Him, on top of me. His arms, caging me in. My teeth, scraping the skin of the small swallow tattoo on his bicep.
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip, in the memory with him.
“What now?” Xander says, reminding me I don’t have to conjure up a memory of him. He’s right here. And he’s not going anywhere. But there’s a slight pitch in his voice. He wants to know if he’s the one who should be commando crawling out of here.
“Now, we watch Criminal Minds,” I say, getting up and walking around the table to stand directly in front of him.
His hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me close, burrowing his face into the soft fabric of the UCLA LAW T-shirt I put back on.
My hands gravitate toward his mop of curls and I rake my fingers through them.
I don’t know why or how, but what we’re doing right now feels more intimate than what we did in the elevator, against the apartment wall, and in my bedroom an hour ago.
“Yeah?” he says, as he looks up at me through his curls.
There he goes, again. Being considerate. Giving me an exit strategy. Letting me know I’m the one who gets to decide. It’s especially touching considering I’m the one with the rules that seem to be bending, breaking, crumbling down whenever he’s around.
I don’t know why I don’t send him home at this realization. I guess I’m not done with him just yet. So instead, I interlace my fingers with his and pull him toward the sofa. “Yeah.”
When he sits on the sofa and opens his arms, I don’t hesitate and melt into the comfiest grooves of his body.
I am definitely in trouble.