Page 11 of Crease Collision

It’s a close call, but I don’t tell him to come back to bed.

“What’s that mean?” I ask instead. “Goo moron?”

His laugh is morning-rough, and I feel it in my gut. “Breakfast is ready,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen. “You need nourishment.”

“Didn’t take you for the domestic type.”

“I did not take you for a man who sleeps until ten-thirty.”

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t. I was up all night.”

He turns to leave. “Yes, I noticed.”

His ass, in painted-on briefs, is rounding the corner.

Since he is wearing mine, I grab his shirt off the floor and pull on my boxers.

I find him in the kitchen, pulling plates out of the cabinet like he lives here.

“Didn’t know the service came with breakfast,” I say, keeping my voice as dry as possible.

“Careful. Talk like that, and I will think you are impressed.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I lean against the counter and cross my arms while he dishes up eggs, bacon, toast, and potatoes. “Didn’t even know I had potatoes.”

“Hungry?”

After last night, he must know I’m starving. “This is suspicious,” I say.

“It is breakfast.”

“No. You.” I give him a quick smirk. “This doesn’t fit with the rest of you.”

He turns, brow raised. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who wakes up and makes eggs for the stranger he fucked all night.”

“Good thing you are not a stranger then,” he says.

“Right. Because that would’ve been awkward.”

He slides a plate toward me, fork already on it. “Eat.”

“Bossy in the bedroom, bossy in the morning.”

“Yes.”

His answer comes so easily that I laugh.

My stomach growls, so I take a bite and then look up. “What the hell?”

He waits until he swallows. “What?”

“This is fucking delicious.”

A flash of a smile, there and gone. Oskar’s smiles seem to run in flickers, and I’m already watching for them, which is its own kind of problem.

“It’s eggs,” he says.