18. Mixers Are Overrated
18
Mixers Are Overrated
Rockwell
I vaguely remember dosing off last night in Clay’s arms, but I don’t feel them surrounding me when I finally peel my eyes open. The sun is beaming right in my face, and I know it’s way later than what my alarm is usually set for.
Then I hear the bass of music from outside my room. Getting up, I head into the bathroom to take care of business, brush my teeth real quick, and throw on a pair of shorts. I open my bedroom door and am immediately hit with the smell of sweet pancakes and savory bacon. 1 Then I hear Clay belting at the top of his lungs, “If I Were a Boy” by Beyoncé. I stand in my bedroom doorway, staring into my kitchen, as I lean against the frame just taking him in.
For somebody who fights with anxiety like I know he does, he sure does find happiness in the smallest things.
As he stands at the counter mixing up the pancake batter, I’m busy appreciating a shirtless Clay and the muscles lining his powerful back as he moves the whisk around the bowl.
Thank fuck I don’t have a mixer.
His shorts are slung so low I can see the two little dimples on his lower back right above that juicy fucking ass of his. My eyes roam over the rest of him. He’s in a pair of my five-inch inseam shorts, and they hug his thighs perfectly, making a groan spill past my lips. He turns around to face me, smiling from ear to ear, and I find myself wearing a matching one as I read his apron.
“Good morning, Baby.”
“Kiss me if I look hot in this apron,” I read it out loud and stalk up to him. I pin his back against the back wall, forcing him to put his bowl of batter down as I lean in to kiss him.
It doesn’t feel like the other ones have.
Those were just us being caught up in one another… in the heat of the moment .
This one is everything.
Everything I’ve been keeping locked up tight, battling with him and myself, denying the feelings I never thought I would have for a man.
I grab the back of his head, deepening the kiss. He parts his lips, surprisingly letting me in, and I take the lead for once.
He pulls away, smacking at my chest. “Quit distracting me. I’m going to burn the bacon.”
“I was just following the instructions on the apron.” I shrug, stealing a piece of bacon off the plate. I look over at Clay’s laptop sitting on the counter beside the pancake batter.
“I have a surprise for you.” He’s not looking at me, but I can see the smile still covering his lips. “Look at the screen.”
I lean in and look closer, rolling my eyes. It’s plane tickets. “Okay… What about it? You going on some fancy rich kid vacation for spring break that Daddy is paying for?” I see the hurt pass over his face, but he just shakes his head.
“No, Rocky. Look at the city and the date.”
“San Diego, and sometime next week?” Then it clicks. I feel the tears already, but I don’t want to say anything in case this is some kind of sick joke he’s playing on me .
“I talked to Coach Taylor this morning, and he said we could miss the one practice after we play San Diego as long as we win. I bought our tickets back.” He flips another piece of bacon before setting the fork down to look at me and grabs my face. “We’re going to see your parents, Baby.”
My nose is burning, and I know the dam of tears is about to open, but I don’t even care.
“Thank you, Clay. Seriously, you don’t know how much this means to me.” My voice cracks, and I hate showing this weakness, but my mom always yells at me for holding my emotions in. “And I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I have to stop with that shit.”
He drags his thumb over my cheek, collecting my tears. “Don’t apologize. I am a rich kid. And Daddy does pay for anything I’ve ever wanted. But we can use his money for good this time.” He shoots me a wink, and I chuckle. Thankful as always that he breaks up the heavy with some jokes.
I don’t know what the fuck Clay Aldrich has done to me, but I'm officially done fighting it.
1. If I Were a Boy - Beyoncé