Chapter 21 Eggs and Toast
Eggs and Toast
Hours later, I woke up to sunlight just beginning to lighten the room, though it was likely still before sunup. It would seem not everyone shared my fondness for blackout curtains.
Jack hadn’t explicitly invited me to stay over, but he didn’t protest when I’d slipped under his blanket last night after we cleaned up.
He was laying behind me now—chest against my back, muscular arms wrapped around me like a vice, and his erection pressing against my ass. One broad hand was splayed across my stomach. And his lips were on my neck.
I smiled to myself and slid his hand up to my breast in silent permission—or perhaps a command—to touch me more. He obliged.
“What time is it?” I whispered, enjoying his gentle massage.
“Shhh,” he breathed against my skin. “It’s still night, Princess.”
“I’m not sure you can still call it night when—ah!”
Jack’s teeth sank into my neck at the same moment he pinched my nipple, and I gasped. “We said one night...” he murmured.
“Oh.” My sleepy brain finally caught on to what he was implying. “I think you’re right. Definitely still night.”
I rolled over in his arms so I could claim his mouth and throw my leg over his hip, more than happy to bend another of his silly rules.
Forty-five minutes and two more orgasms later, the sun was undeniably up, which meant so was our time together.
I excused myself to his ensuite bathroom to clean up, already feeling a sense of loss.
My body tingled in all the places Jack had touched me—basically everywhere.
A peek at my reflection found me flushed and glowing, and there was a light purple bruise where my neck curved into my shoulder.
I leaned in, inspecting the place more closely, then chuckled to myself.
Jackson Cooper—Chemistry Teacher Extraordinaire and Champion of All Rules—had given me a hickey.
He was just full of surprises. I couldn’t get enough.
I had been physically attracted to him since I first saw him.
If that had been all, then one night together should have scratched my itch for him.
But it didn’t. At some point over the last several weeks, I had begun to care for Jack on a deeper level.
He was silly and so smart and passionate about chemistry and so good with the students…
All of that rolled up in one tidy package made him incredibly sexy in a way that transcended his good looks.
Plus, there was undeniable chemistry between the two of us.
It wasn’t just that he was good in bed—though he undeniably was.
There was something about him that made me feel cherished last night.
Revered. He was so attentive and so generous.
It was clear from the first minute that my pleasure was his first priority.
He seemed to revel in it.
My thighs clenched involuntarily, and I became aware of a dull ache at my core.
I splashed some water on my face and rinsed out my mouth with a bottle of mouthwash I found under the sink. Then, I slipped on a bathrobe I found hanging on the back of the bathroom door and returned to the bedroom.
Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a purple Newbury cross-country tee shirt. He looked up from his phone when he heard the door open. The expression on his face was a mixture of serious and sad that had me pausing in the doorway.
My chest tightened and I drew in a deep breath. I knew where this was going. This was the part of the date—or whatever this was—where he told me that we’d had a great time, but it had to end because of a laundry list of reasons.
In this case, I had all the same reasons that he did for sweeping this under the rug. But, I hadn’t felt this good—wanted, satisfied, happy—for such a long time.
I wasn’t ready to stop.
But I was too proud to beg.
“So,” I said, starting before he could say what I knew was coming. “Last night was a lot of fun—”
“Do you want some breakfast? I have eggs and toast.” He stood up and slipped his phone in his pocket.
That was not what I was expecting. “Um, sure. Eggs would be great.” I hesitated for a second before adding hopefully, “And coffee?”
His face softened into a smile. He replied, “Of course,” and my heart melted.
I followed him into the main room and took a seat at the small table while he busied himself with a drip coffee maker.
I watched in fascination as he added a few scoops of grounds to a fresh filter and then filled up the reservoir with water.
This was a lot more work than what I usually did, which was to fill up at the nearest coffee shop or, lately, the cafeteria.
Within a few minutes, the machine started to burble and the smell of fresh coffee filled the apartment. I might be in heaven.
Jack moved around the kitchen with the casual confidence of someone that used the space often, pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge and popping slices of bread into the toaster.
“Is over medium okay for the eggs? That’s how I usually make mine. Or I can do scrambled? I can also try an omelet, but it will probably just end up scrambled.” He chuckled to himself and shook his head.
“Over medium sounds great. You’re already going to too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” he said, and perfectly cracked an egg into a pan with one hand. This man had so many layers.
“I can see that,” I said. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My ex-girlfriend was a chef. It’s hard not to pick up a few things.”
“Ah. I guess.”
I didn’t know what to say after that. On one hand, I was painfully curious to learn what had happened in his previous relationship.
What had gone wrong. On the other hand, I absolutely did not want to hear about another woman thirty minutes after he had been inside me.
Better to say nothing at all. I folded my hands in my lap.
He plucked the toast from the toaster and buttered it. Then, he arranged it with the eggs on two plates, sliding one in front of me along with a hot coffee in a mug with the periodic table and the words “I drink coffee periodically” printed on the side.
I said thank you when he sat down across from me and tucked into his own breakfast. Sometime in the silence that had fallen between us while he prepared the meal, I managed to grow self-conscious. I pushed bits of egg around my plate with a slice of toast.
“So,” I started, without any real idea what I wanted to say. “Last night was… and this morning…”
What could I say? That it was the best sex I’d had in years? Probably ever.
I absolutely could not say that.
“We agreed on one night,” he said before I could finish my thought.
I gulped down a mouthful of coffee, burning my tongue. “Obviously,” I coughed. “Because of the job thing.”
“Right.”
I set down my mug and looked up at him again. His eyes were on his plate, and chestnut waves fell loose and messy over his forehead. My fingers itched to brush them back. “Just because of the job thing?” I asked.
Setting his fork down, he met my gaze with solemn, hooded eyes. “It has to be,” he said with as little enthusiasm as I felt.
I swallowed the lump in my throat but didn’t look away. The devil on my shoulder didn’t want to be done with him while the angel on my other was screaming at me to steal his coffee mug and run back to my apartment.
I nodded and pushed back from the table.
The angel won out by a hair’s breadth. I collected my clothes in a messy bundle and left, promising to return the robe later.
When I closed the door and stood alone in my apartment, I was full of restless energy in spite of all of my physical activity over the last few hours.
I considered taking a shower—I definitely needed one—but that didn’t sound appealing for some reason.
I needed to move my body and work out some of the agitation that had crept into my bones.
Sure, I had done the right thing—or, at least, the responsible thing—for once, but that didn’t mean I needed to be happy about it. At least, not right away.
A run.
I needed to work up a sweat and tire myself out.
Running always cleared my head and made me feel better.
In a matter of minutes, I was in a pair of compression shorts and matching sports bra and lacing up my pink Sauconys. I pulled on a quarter-zip to hold off the October chill, then headed outside.
Today was ideal running weather. The sun was bright and friendly.
The morning air was cold and crisp in my lungs.
I would have been grossly underdressed in my shorts and thin pullover had I been doing anything else, but I would be plenty warm once my muscles warmed up.
I set off at a hard pace around the lake, enjoying the bite of the wind on my cheeks.
Within a few minutes, the muscles in my legs started to burn. It was a nice distraction from my thoughts, which kept wandering back to my neighbor across the hall.
Last night was incredible, but it was over. We couldn’t go any further.
If I kept repeating that mantra to myself, I might start to believe it eventually.
I would have to keep my head down and get through the rest of the semester.
And frankly, the writing was already on the wall—Jack was the better teacher and would likely be hired.
I should probably start thinking about what I was going to do in January if I didn’t get to stay.
I would be out of a job, but also out of a home since I was living on campus property.
Going back to my old place wasn’t an option, and the idea of finding another roommate in the city sounded absolutely terrible. I was incredibly lucky when I found Silvia. The odds of lightning striking the same place twice were slim to none.
I ran harder until my lungs started to burn too.
I was so frustrated. I couldn’t have the job. I couldn’t have the guy. I was going to be homeless. And I was starting to think I would rather be homeless than ask my parents for help.
Maybe I could find a nice bridge to live under. Connecticut was fucking full of bridges.
I wanted to scream—from anger or desperation or plain old self-pity.
Then, all of the sudden I wasn’t alone with my spiraling thoughts anymore.
Jack was next to me, running at my side.
I looked over at him, but he was staring straight ahead. Just keeping pace. It was as if my wild thoughts had called him to me. He wasn’t a solution to any of my problems, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want him around.
His quiet company gave me a little more strength. We ran together that way for another thirty minutes until my lungs and legs burned and my heart felt like it was beating a bruise into the back of my ribs.
I stopped abruptly the next time we passed Brookside Hall and started my slow ascent up the stairs. To my surprise, Jack stopped too and followed me into the building, a silent shadow.
My mind began racing again as we made our way up to the third floor. He wasn’t touching me, but he was close enough that I could smell his sweat—not to mention the lingering smell of sex—and I could feel the heat radiating off his muscular body.
I paused with my key in the lock and turned to look at him across the hall. He had stopped too, his hand on the doorknob.
“You know,” I started, “it wasn’t really a one-night thing since we… canoodled this morning too.”
“Canoodled?” he asked, brow raised.
“Bonked,” I said, and he narrowed his eyes.
“Screwed, fucked, shagged, copulated, fornicated, made woopie—”
“Okay, I get it,” he said, waving his hands as if that might stop my mouth.
“Anyway,” I said, continuing my previous train of thought. “Since it’s technically day now, it seems like this is actually a night and a day—or maybe a twenty-four-hour thing. That’s just basic math, you know?”
He regarded me with a furrowed brow. “What are you saying?”
I took a deep breath before speaking again, more slowly this time. “I want you to shower with me.”
He looked at me as if I had sprouted a second head. “Shower.”
“Yes.”
“With you.”
“Yep.”
“You think this is a good idea?”
“Probably not,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow, and I soldiered on. “But we’re both adults, and I think we’re capable of keeping our personal and professional lives separate for a little longer. I mean, we already survived one night. And one morning. What’s one little shower?”
He turned back to his door, studying his hand on the knob as if it held the answers. “One little shower,” he repeated under his breath, before pulling his door closed and pocketing his key.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. I backed up against my door as he stepped across the hall, closing the distance between us.
He looked at me with intensity, his eyes darkening. Then he leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “You smell terrible.”
I laughed and threw my head back. It banged into my door. Hard.
“Shit! Mel, are you okay?” He grabbed either side of my face in both hands and looked into my eyes again, this time ostensibly to determine if I’d managed to give myself a concussion.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, still laughing. “Come in. You smell too.” Then I twisted the door handle and stepped back into my apartment, pulling him with me by a fistful of his tee shirt.