Chapter 3
Meg
I wake up with a start. The light is streaming through the curtains behind me.
I realize that I am still on my couch and am thankful that it was my one and only splurge.
It is the most expensive piece of furniture in the house.
The huge grey sectional was a solid investment.
I stagger to the kitchen to start the coffee and freeze.
Looking in the guest bedroom I notice boots that were set neatly next to the bed on my light wood floor.
He is still here? He stayed? I am in shock.
I shake my head and then wince. Bad idea, bad idea.
The migraine is mostly gone but my head feels like it has a bunch of cotton stuffed in it.
Turning to my percolator, I shrug. If he were going to kill or kidnap me, he probably would have done it already.
I shovel the dark grounds into the basket, making sure each spoon is heaping with the glorious magic.
Plugging it in, I listen to it making sure that it is brewing.
Trying to be quiet, I make my way back to the couch.
I don’t quite make it there when his voice makes me jump.
“Morning,” he says roughly, clearing his throat. He strolls into the bathroom and shuts the door. A few moments later, I hear the toilet flush and the sink running. The door opens and I’m still standing there frozen.
“Something wrong,” he asks, folding his muscular arms over his expansive chest. I huff awkwardly.
Not sure what to say. I don’t know him. I know that he is even better looking in the daylight, which I thought would be impossible.
The harsh light of day just showcases our physical differences.
I’m the short to his tall. The curvy (in polite terms) to his muscular.
My inner musings are interrupted again when he turns around and opens up my cabinet taking out a mug and pouring a cup of coffee.
He looks at home in my space. Which is odd for me, seeing as how I usually only have family or close friends in it.
Finally, I respond to his initial question.
“Uhhhhh, no?”
“Is that a question,” he asks smirking. He continues on not allowing me to answer. “I figured you may need a ride somewhere this morning.”
I blink at him in shock. He has been a jerk since I met him. I’m not sure how to respond to the civil version of him. I don’t even know his name.
“I also didn’t want to be held responsible for you choking on your own vomit in your sleep,” he said gruffly.
“Aah, there it is,” I mutter. “I was wondering where the jerk version of you went,” the words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them.
I should feel sorry, but I don’t. I am still a bit cranky from last night—and let’s face it, slightly embarrassed.
Anything that could have gone wrong, did.
He smirks at my statement, takes a sip of coffee and continues to stand in front of the percolator.
Which I need to get to desperately. He lifts his eyebrow and takes another swig.
He obviously knows I want to get to the coffee.
“What do you need,” he asks with a slight chuckle. I cross my arms under my chest, then remember that that action makes them look even larger and put them down.
“Can you move so I can get to MY coffee, please” I sigh.
He chuckles. “Why didn’t you just ask me in the first place,” he questions as he quirks a dark eyebrow.
I don’t respond and pour my coffee almost to the brim of the mug. Finally, I turn around after taking a fortifying sip. I don’t care that I burned my tongue in the process.
“I could use a ride to my office downtown. I need to do some work.”
He nods and washes out his mug. Placing it in the dish strainer, he turns around.
“Mind if I use your shower quick,” he asks.
I gulp and shrug. “Knock yourself out,” I respond trying to sound casual about it.
Internally, my mind is racing with thoughts of him all soapy and slick, in MY shower.
Pull yourself together, Meg. I need to pull my shit together.
He walks out the door of my kitchen in the opposite direction of the shower, towards his truck. Maybe he changed his mind?
Quickly, he is striding back towards my door with a small duffle bag over his shoulder. He stops in the middle of my small kitchen and looks at me with his eyebrow raised.
“Do you want to go first,” he asks. It sounds like he is trying to be polite. I shake my head and motion towards the hall bathroom door.
“It’s all yours, I have a bathroom in my room,” I explain.
I really do too. I’ll just have to wait for him to shut the water off so that we both can have a hot shower.
I want to ask him why he has a duffle bag with him, but don’t want to intrude.
The dirty side of my brain wonders if he often spends the night with random women.
“Towels are in the hall on the shelves, help yourself,” I say as I wash out my mug. He strides passed me, his long legs eating up my small hallway in a half a second. I shake my head and head towards my bedroom, wondering what in the world I have gotten myself into.