Page 10 of Merrick
“None of that,” Wilder said softly, rolling over and reaching for his phone. He turned off the alarm and stretched, then climbed out of bed himself, completely naked. “We are both adults. There’s nothing embarrassing about what we did.”
Merrick opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself because there was nothing to say. He was more embarrassed about passing out like a corpse than the sex, though there was certainly something a little careless about what they’d done. He hadn’t even told anyone where he was going before he’d come over to Wilder’s in the first place.
“I need to hop in the shower. Do you want to shower before you go?”
Merrick shook his head, but managed to follow it up with a scratchy, “No.”
“Would you…” Wilder bit his bottom lip and went quiet.
“Would I?”
“Nothing.”
“Please don’t do that,” Merrick begged, Wilder’s avoidance only adding to the tinge of embarrassment he couldn’t quite shake.
Wilder studied him for a moment, curious and dark eyes dragging over every exposed inch of Merrick’s skin.
“Would you make us some coffee?” Wilder finally asked. “It’s all in the kitchen, and I imagine it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“I can do that.”
Wilder watched him a moment longer, then nodded and disappeared into the hallway.
Merrick had to get up anyway because of the clothing predicament, but he waited until he heard the shower turn on before he dared. He dressed quickly, hunched over the back of Wilder’s couch before padding barefoot into the kitchen to assess the coffee situation. Wilder’s house was smaller than Merrick had thought—very LA—and the coffee was as straightforward as Merrick had ever seen. No fancy single-cup brewing for Wilder. He had a traditional coffeepot with a glass jar beside it, filled with coffee grounds.
Merrick brewed half a pot, resting his ass against the counter and scrolling through his phone while Wilder showered. The water turned off and the bathroom door opened. Merrick glanced up, but another door closed and he imagined Wilder had gone to get dressed. Merrick shoved his phone into his pocket and turned, opening the cabinet over the coffeepot and finding two shelves overflowing with coffee mugs and coffee tumblers. He didn’t know when Wilder had to leave, if he wanted his coffee for home or to go, and he stood there staring at all the options, paralyzed.
The air in the room shifted when Wilder walked in. The sharp clack of dress shoes against tile hit Merrick’s ears and he fought a shiver.
“I didn’t know which mug you’d want,” Merrick said without turning around. He still didn’t move, but Wilder’s arrival had at least broken him out of his haze.
“Depends on the mug you want.”
He still couldn’t look. “When do you have to leave?”
“I have fifteen minutes.”
Merrick pulled two porcelain mugs out and set them on the counter. He filled them both with coffee, movements stuttering when Wilder closed the space between them. He stopped short of touching Merrick, but Merrick could smell the soap on him, the cologne. Wilder smelled like amber and…he wasn’t sure. Hetried to catch the scent, sniffing the air but losing it all to the rich smell of the coffee that was certainly artisan. Nothing like what Merrick had at home or what Riggs had at the shop.
“Santal 33,” Wilder answered before he could ask.
“Of course.”
“I take my coffee black, by the way.”
That snapped him out of it, and Merrick side-stepped out of the way, pushing one of the mugs into Wilder’s waiting hand.
“Do you want to talk about last night?” Wilder asked.
“What about it?”
Wilder eyed him warily over the rim of the mug. “I get the impression there’s lots you want to say so I’m not sure why you’re not saying it.”
“I’ve been told I talk a lot,” Merrick admitted.
“And I’ve been told I listen well.”
That was enough to stop Merrick in his tracks, because not once in his entire life had anyone met his incessant conversation with anything more than mere tolerance, and that was a best-case scenario. The most common reactions were annoyance, and sometimes disinterest and complete dismissal.
