Page 217 of Embriagado

“Yes. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time I slept through the night.”

I’d noticed it before, but the guy hardly ever slept. Whenever I crashed at his place after we fucked, I would always wake up to an empty bed, even if it was in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t be surprised if he suffered from nightmares, and while I wanted to ask, I also didn’t want to ruin the mood.

“So what are you cooking?” He looked around, picking up a strip of bell pepper I’d sliced earlier.

So you do like peppers.

“Frittata and some salad.”

He scooched closer, peeking at what I was doing. “Didn’t know you could cook.”

Adding the chopped onions to the bowl, I grabbed my avocado and sliced it in half to take the seed out.

“I do.”

“I can’t cook at all.”

Peeling the skin, I smiled. “Then it’s a good thing you have me.”

“It is.”

His words, as simple as they were, moved my heart, and I glanced at him. Only he was focused on the avocado, probably unaware of what this single moment—him being here with me—meant.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” he asked.

“Of course not. I even turned on the boiler so you’d have hot water.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder, giving me a slight squeeze before kissing my cheek. “Thank you.”

He then left, and thank God for it, or else he would have seen how bad I was blushing. Seriously, I had to pause and take a breath to calm down.

Twenty minutes later, Ari was back in the kitchen, but sadly, he was no longer in my joggers, instead wearing his jeans and T-shirt from last night.

“Your house is rather cozy.”

I scoffed, putting the glass salad bowl on the table. “That’s okay, you can say it’s tiny.”

“It is, but it’s still lovely.”

I side-eyed him, then returned to the sink to wash some of the dishes left before the food would be ready.

“I mean, compared to your big-ass penthouse, at least you can’t get lost in here.”

“I don’t own that house. My boss does.”

I paused, cursing myself because I already knew this. “Shit, I’m sorry⁠—”

“That’s okay.” He smiled, but I still felt like shit. “By the way, is your brother not home?”

The oven’s timer went off.

“He went out with some friends, trying to get over his breakup and all,” I said, turning off the timer and grabbing a towel so I could take out the frittata pan.

“So they broke up?”

With the pan in hand, I shut the oven’s door. “Yeah. About fucking time.”

“When?”