Chapter 11
MY PANCAKE ERA
Trina
A rooster crows a gentle cock-a-doodle-doo. But that barnyard boy’s about to get a serving of my attitude real fast.
I fumble around on the weirdly comfortable couch, slapping the coffee table in Aubrey’s living room for my phone as I squint, trying to block out the bright morning rays streaking through the windows.
Where’s my little dog warmer? Nacho always sleeps under the blankets with me. But maybe he’s waiting at the door to do his business.
In the distance, a pair of voices float by. Something about batter.
Ohh.
Those are man voices. Right. I’m not in Kansas anymore. I’m in Sex Wonderland, and this is a nice big bed to wake up in. I blink away the last cobwebs of sleep and confusion.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
I cringe, grabbing the phone, then silencing the rude but necessary alarm, along with the last of my disoriented thoughts.
Fully awake and aware now, I sit up, shove my glasses on my face, then check the time.
Eight-thirty on Saturday. I need to be at work at ten when we open the store. Plenty of time to do the walk of shame.
My gut churns, a little embarrassed. I haven’t done one in a long time.
“That’s not how you do it,” Chase declares from a room far away, perhaps the kitchen.
“Yes, it is,” Ryker insists.
“You have to whisk it more.”
“Whisk it less.”
They’re arguing over pancakes? They’re already back in their normal routine. I almost feel like last night didn’t happen.
Maybe I should act like it didn’t as I slink off? That seems easiest.
I stretch, looking around. Chase’s bedroom is the size of a small country.
This bed is its own city. I haven’t slept this well in…
I don’t even know. The only thing missing is Nacho, and my heart aches a little for my guy.
But I’ll see him soon, and my life will snap back to normal.
The dog, the bookstore, my online book club, occasional yoga in the park.
Last night will just be a distant, dirty memory.
That’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s not like I expected anything to come of my sleepover in sex paradise. And I’m not looking for anything. I’m only two weeks post breakup with Jasper. No one wants a girl on the rebound either.
I should find my clothes, wash my face, brush my teeth, and get out of here. Let them return to their regular lives too. Phone in hand, I pad to the en suite bathroom and freshen up, squeezing some toothpaste onto my finger.
When I’m done, I leave, and hunt around BedroomLandia for my shirt. I think I left it somewhere in the northwest territory. Ah, there it is—many feet away. I head over and grab a small pile of blue fabric from the floor.
I pull it on, grateful it goes to the top of my thighs since I have no panties in here. It’s going to be seriously gross to pull last night’s on anyway when I leave Chase’s home. Maybe I should just go commando? Except, denim up the vajayjay might be worse.
I’ll deal with that later. For now, time to bolt. I pad out, stomach dipping with nerves.
This is going to be awkward. The thanks for last night moment. The good luck with your hockey games, those Os were real fun, and it’s time for me to call a Lyft of Shame.
Quietly, I walk down the hall, peering at my phone as I go.
Oh! There’s an email from one of the apartments I applied to. A studio! It’s available next week—nine days from now. I can’t wait to tell Aubrey. Also, there’s another email from Jasper, begging me to let him fill in for me at the Hockey Hotties calendar kickoff portion of the VIP experience.
With an eye roll, I delete it, but it also serves as a wonderful reminder to upload the pool pics from last night to my social feed.
Me and my new hockey besties, I write, then I post the pic and the caption.
“Suck on that, Jaspie,” I say under my breath as I close the screen.
“We should start the coffee,” Ryker barks.
“There’s time,” Chase says calmly.
“Hardly. It loses its flavor after you grind it,” Ryker warns, and they’re interacting like it’s normal to argue about how to make coffee the morning after they double pleasure a woman.
But maybe it is normal? Maybe they do this often. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know in the heat of the moment. Maybe I’m one of many women they perform this service for.
Need an O? Call The Hockey Guys! For whenever you need a double team to take care of your peach problems!
Come to think of it, that’s a hell of a service. Maybe if I were more ambitious, I could start it. Become a madame and run the Hockey Double Team. On the other hand, I could just mention it to my book club, and someone would post a vid demanding someone write this now.
But in the real world, no one wants a hookup overstaying their welcome.
Which means, I need to fly so they don’t think for a second that the recently jilted girl who stole her cheating ex’s tickets is going to latch onto them like a barnacle.
Anti-barnacle mode activated, I enter the open-concept living room.
But my breath catches annoyingly when I see them.
They’re both shirtless. Chase is wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips, his V-cut in full view and even more drool-worthy in the morning light.
Ryker’s wearing his dark blue slacks from last night, but that’s all.
His tattoos snake along his massive right arm and across his huge pecs, and I can’t catch a break with my hormones.
They’re doing a little jig at the sight of the two men.
Plus, to make matters hotter, they’re making pancakes.
That’s just unfairly sexy.
“Allow me to remind you,” Chase says as he grabs a skillet from a gorgeous wall-mounted pot rack that makes my mouth water, “the three commandments of pancakes are—one, don’t overmix. Two, let the batter rest. And three, always use butter.”
Ryker scoffs, and without seeing his face, I know he’s rolling his eyes. “You forgot the fourth amendment. It was added to the covenant of breakfast last year and it’s this—use real syrup.”
“Thou shalt drown thy pancakes,” I call out from several feet away, light and breezy, like I’m not totally wanting another night with them.
But what if it sounds like I’m angling for breakfast?
The guys turn their gazes to me. Ryker’s unreadable, but Chase’s lips tip up in a grin. “Hey, sweetness,” he says, using the nickname he gave me last night all while looking and sounding like sunshine. Stubble lines his jaw. It’s coming in golden brown, and I want to run my thumb across it.
Except I should go. They want me to go.
“Did you sleep okay?” Chase asks, all thoughtful and caring.
“I did. It was great,” I say, then shift my gaze quickly to Ryker. Is he going to ask how I’m doing too?
For a second, his blue eyes look almost soulful. Vulnerable, like they’re searching mine. Trying to read me.
But that’s ridiculous. He’s been arguing about how to make coffee and pancakes, not about me.
I will not be clingy, so before he can even say a word, I add, “Anyway, last night was super fun. Thanks so much. I have to go. So, have fun with your breakfast,” I say, breezily, making it crystal clear I’m not trying to crash their morning plans.
They’re probably going to make pancakes and then bench press small cars or something.
That soulful look in Ryker’s eyes vanishes so fast I’m sure I imagined it, especially when he grumbles, “Your alarm is awful.”
I flinch. Well. The grump has officially returned.
Gone is the flirty side he broke out last night, but it’s weirdly reassuring, Ryker’s return to form.
It’ll make it even easier for me to go. “Yes, it is. But I don’t wake up easily without it, and it worked and woke me up, and I should clearly take off. ”
Chase tilts his head, seeming confused. “What?”
“Leave. That thing where people say goodbye and go,” I say, trying to make light of my pending exit. “I just need to find the rest of my clothes.”
Ryker points. Like, aggressively points. “Living room.”
I bristle. Well, that’s clear. He wants me gone, and he doesn’t even live here. He’s one of those guys who’s a beast in the bedroom, and a beast in life too.
No thanks.
Chase smacks Ryker’s arm. “Asshole.”
“She said she wanted to go. I’m fucking helping,” Ryker says defensively, then clears his throat and turns to me. “Your jeans are on the coffee table.” Then he looks back to Chase. “That better?”
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Chase asks.
Ryker cracks his neck so loudly I wince on behalf of his bones. “Yes. I did. There were three of us in the bed, jackass.”
And you wrapped your arm around my waist and spooned me, you beast.
“Aww, poor baby. Go see the trainer,” Chase says, and clearly I am not needed in their bro banter.
I power walk to the living room, beelining for the coffee table. Huh. My clothes are neatly folded. And warm, I discover when I grab them.
A second later, there’s a hand on my arm. Chase turns me around, his deep brown eyes exploring mine, like he’s reading the room before he speaks. “Don’t go yet. We’re making you breakfast.”
That does not track. “You are?”
“Stay. Let us feed you, at least.”
“I don’t think Ryker wants me to stay.”
Chase smiles and whispers in my ear, “Let me tell you a secret. He woke up early to wash and dry your jeans and undies. I discovered him in the laundry room, hunting around for dryer sheets, and then he asked if I had flour and eggs and all that food stuff.”
Is that my heart fluttering? Yeah, I think it is. Dryer sheets and pancakes.
“I like pancakes,” I say, loud enough for Ryker to hear.
“Everyone likes pancakes,” Ryker grumbles, but I can translate his pissy mood now, and his words mean I thought you were leaving when I wanted you to stay for breakfast.
I return to the kitchen, nudging Ryker’s side. “Yes, everyone does, even the big bad wolf.”
The wolf harrumphs, but then says, “Do you like coffee?”
“As long as it hasn’t lost its flavor,” I say, with a mischievous grin.
“Course it hasn’t,” he says.
Because you started it right on time for me.