Chapter 9
Blueberry Pecan Pancakes
Kiki
The sun hits me square in the face, and I groan, turning onto my stomach as I blink my eyes open against the light.
That’s strange. I never leave the curtains open in the cabin.
Except… this isn’t my cabin.
The thought creeps in slowly, as if my brain is trying to be kind about it, easing me into the realization instead of dropping it on my head like a brick.
I push up onto my elbows and glance around, the sheet pooling at my waist.
Definitely not my bed.
Which means last night was not just another hot as fuck dream about Eddie Landry, spurred on by too many drinks and not enough orgasms.
It was the real thing.
I glance to the other side of the bed, but it’s empty. Seems Eddie is already awake.
Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.
Which means he’s seen me already this morning.
I groan, running a hand over my no doubt destroyed face. I do not want to know what I look like right now.
See, Eddie has seen me comfortable, wrapped in sweats and a blanket, but at least my hair was combed, and my eyeliner didn’t resemble a raccoon after a late night of dumpster diving.
I blow into my hand and grimace. Yeah, my breath could wake the dead.
This morning keeps getting better and better.
He passed out next to the hot version of me and woke up next to a forty-year-old, hungover, what-the-hell-did-you-do-last-night crypt keeper.
Perfect.
Why couldn’t I have woken up before him?
Time to move, and fast, because lying here naked in his bed while I spiral is not helping the situation.
I scramble out of bed and gather my clothes that have somehow wound up tossed in every corner of his room.
That settles it. I am a maniac.
Making a beeline for his bathroom, I shut and lock the door, leaning against it with a heavy sigh.
Time to assess the damage.
But the mirror doesn’t crack when I meet my reflection’s gaze. Okay, I’m not far off with the raccoon comparison, and my hair looks like I went a few rounds with a wind tunnel and lost, but it’s not catastrophic. I can work with this.
I finger-comb my hair into a bun and wash the dark brown smudges from my face. Look at that—almost human again. There’s a tube of toothpaste on the counter, and I squeeze a little onto my finger, swiping it across my teeth because we are doing the best we can with what we have.
Getting there. Now to throw on my clothes, except… where the hell are my underwear?
I know I had a pair. Standard black bikini, because I was certain sex wasn’t happening last night.
I rummage through my clothes but they’re nowhere to be found.
Shit, they could be anywhere.
Oh my God, I absolutely cannot be the reason Eddie has to explain stray lingerie to his kid or his ex. That is not how I want to be remembered in this town.
I rush back into his room, turning in a slow circle as I scan the floor. “Where the hell are you?”
As if they might magically announce their location if I ask nicely.
Then, because apparently the universe has decided I haven’t suffered enough yet, I glance up.
There they are. Hooked over the blade of the ceiling fan like some kind of deranged victory flag.
How the fuck did they get up there?
Sighing, I jump for them, missing the first time. Of course I do.
The second attempt is more successful. “At least we know I had an absolutely hot as hell, completely unhinged good time.”
The question is, did Eddie leave, or is he hiding somewhere, nursing a hangover and a serious case of regret?
I’m not in the mindset to want the answer.
I finish dressing and realize I can’t find my purse. Okay, enough of this sadistic treasure hunt.
Of course, I can’t leave it, since it contains my phone, keys, and life.
I recall tossing it near his door and it spilling everywhere. Wonderful, now he’s busy collecting my tampons along with my dignity.
Or maybe he’s gone—to work, to the store, to the library, for Christ’s sake—and I can sneak away without facing the morning-after chat.
Because I’m so not ready for that one yet. Probably never. To look in his face and see regret? Yeah, that’s a whole new level of pain.
The second I step out of his room, I know my plan is dead in the water.
Eddie stands at the stove, a spatula in one hand, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweats slung low on his hips, looking so effortlessly gorgeous that it’s downright unfair.
Plus, I know what’s hiding beneath those sweats.
Libido, please shut the hell up. Now is not the time, and if my radar is correct, there isn’t going to be another one. That ship has sailed.
Eddie catches sight of me as a slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face. “Morning.”
I hold up my hand in greeting. “Hi.”
He motions to the kitchen table with his spatula. “Are you going to sit down or hang out across the apartment?”
“I was going to go.” I motion toward his front door, noting that my purse is sitting on the end table. In one piece. Great, he did embark on a tampon treasure hunt.
The man deserves a medal.
His brow arches. “It’s a long walk, Kiki.”
Shit. That’s right. He’s my ride.
“Come on. Have a seat.”
I slink into the kitchen and perch on the edge of the chair, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
God, why am I like this? Oh, that’s right. I don’t have random sex with my guy friends.
Fine. Random, incredible, blow my mind sex with the hottest man I know.
Still, that was then, and this is… bright.
I chance a glance at him, and it’s then I see them. A series of unmistakable scratches litter the length of his back.
“Are those from me?” I stumble over the words, my cheeks once again beet red.
Eddie chuckles, running a hand over the set decorating his shoulder. “Who else would they be from?”
I shrug, attempting to look unaffected. Yep, I fail miserably. “I don’t know how often you do this, but I’m not very good at the whole morning-after walk of shame.”
Eddie stills, resting the spatula on the spoon rest before turning to me, his arms crossed over his chest. “Are you ashamed of what happened between us?”
“Oh God, not what I meant. At all.” Apparently, my brain is still sleeping off the hangover, because I cannot, for the life of me, form a single coherent sentence. “That is not… shit… I didn’t…”
Fantastic work, Kiki. Really nailing this speech.
Words keep coming, but they’re useless, half-formed things, tripping over each other on the way out like a malfunctioning machine that needs a reset.
I bury my face in my hands. Just say it. Just say the damn words aloud. He already knows.
With a sigh, I lift my head and meet his gaze. “I don’t regret it. At all. I just figure you do.”
Eddie scratches the scruff lining his jaw, considering my words. “Hmm.”
Hmm? That’s his answer?
Fuck my life.
The chair makes an ungodly scraping sound against the tile as I stand. “I’m going to go now.”
He’s across the kitchen in three strides, capturing me around my waist and holding me fast. “Like hell you are.” He presses a soft kiss to my hair, nuzzling into my neck. “You’re going to sit down, eat some breakfast, drink some coffee, and pop a couple of aspirin.”
The second his arms band around me, my entire body melts, dredging up a flood of emotions of how good he felt last night.
How good he made me feel.
“If you continue kissing me like that, you’re going to end up wearing more scratch marks.”
He drops his head onto my shoulder, laughter reverberating through his body as mortification floods mine.
Good job, old girl. You go from not being able to form a coherent sentence to threatening bodily harm.
What a pivot.
I sigh and release a soft groan. “I think coffee is a solid plan. Then I might behave like a human being again.”
A second after dropping back onto my seat, a mug of coffee appears before me, its potent aroma waking up my insides. “Perfect. Do you have any—”
Can’t get the request out before Eddie sets down some milk and sugar. “I know how you take your coffee,” he replies, running a gentle hand over my hair.
At this point, the man knows everything about me. Including how easy it is to make me come.
Best keep that fact to myself.
“Aspirin?” He shakes the bottle in my direction.
“No, I’m fine, actually.” At least on the head front. Feeling like a schoolgirl naked in front of her quarterback crush is still very much in play.
“Huh. Guess those radioactive drinks weren’t as bad as you thought.”
“Think it was several orgasms that did the trick.” I clap my hand over my mouth, my entire body heating as the flush spreads to every inch of my body.
For Christ’s sake.
“Happy to be of service.” He laughs, dusting his fingers against his chest. That gorgeous, muscular chest, complete with the happiest of happy trails.
I really need to look anywhere but at him. Otherwise, I might start drooling, begging, or something equally vexing.
He sets down a plate loaded with food. “Here you go. Blueberry pecan pancakes and my special maple syrup, bacon, and”—he pulls a can from his waistband with a smirk—“whipped cream. For later, if you’re good.”
I’m not sure which stuns me most: the delicious spread in front of me, the gorgeous man I spent the night with, or the sexually loaded jokes about food play. We’ll go with a fun mix of all three.
“Eddie, I never eat this much for breakfast.”
He shrugs, leaning against the back of the opposite chair. “Consider it your birthday breakfast.”
Talk about knocking the shine off a moment.
Eddie’s words are innocent. He means well. He’s being sweet, which is pretty much a constant from the man.
But it’s also a reminder that I’m forty. Ten years older than he is. A different decade, for God’s sake.
Once again, I realize how cruddy I look sans makeup, clean clothes, or a shower, especially next to his effortless good looks.
Damn the young.
My hands shake as I reach for my fork, completely at odds with his easygoing nature as he slides into the chair across from me.
You can do this, Kiki. You have eaten food before.
I nod toward his empty section of the table. “Aren’t you eating?”