PEYTON
“Morning, sunshine.”Reese kisses my hair as he stumbles past the breakfast bar to the Keurig.
“Morning, bum.” He swats me away over his shoulder and I laugh. “Late night?”
He sets his cup under the drip, inserts a pod and presses the button. Then he twists to face me. “Surprised you didn’t hear.” I widen my eyes as a chuckle spills from his lips. Not that Reese’s shenanigans are anything new. “You either sleep like the dead or you came in much later than me.”
“Probably the latter.” I lift my own mug to my lips and sip the creamy brew. “Manager Asshole was in rare form the other night.”
Reese adds sugar and hazelnut creamer to the mug, then gulps his morning elixir and sighs. He stands opposite me, hip leaning on the kitchen island, brow cocked in question.
“Sounds juicy. Tell me more while I make breakfast.”
Before I get in a word of protest, Reese turns his back to me and grabs pans from the cabinet. I love when he makes breakfast. Everything he cooks tastes ten times better. Even scrambled eggs. Plus, it gives me more time to sip my coffee.
“He just raked my nerves more than usual.”
Reese peeks over his shoulder with a devious smile. “Most people call that flirting, sunshine. You should fuck him already.”
I shudder and he laughs. “Well, I sure as shit am not flirting with Micah Reed.” The idea of purposely flirting with Micah makes my skin crawl. “Nor do I want to fuck him.” I ignore the shiver that rolls up my spine. “He’s just as much an asshole now as he was back in high school.”
Reese grabs eggs, milk and cheese from the fridge. Then a bag of hash browns and sausage patties from the freezer. He cracks half the carton of eggs, adds milk and whips them longer than I ever do. Probably the secret behind why his scrambled eggs are so damn fluffy. I just don’t have the patience.
He pours the mix into the pan and adds two handfuls of cheese. In two other pans, he starts the hash browns and sausage. I stare after him in fascination. Not that I can’t cook. I just prefer to make simpler foods that only take one pan. Or the microwave. Less dishes equals less cleanup.
“Still think he doesn’t know who you are?” Reese sips his coffee, then tends to the pans.
Does Micah know who I am? All signs and interaction with him lead me to believe he has no clue.
One—the first time he laid eyes on me, I was in my all-things-black, loner-girl phase. Black hair, black clothes, black makeup. If it was black, I probably owned it.
Don’t get me wrong, I still love black. But the dark shade no longer rules my life. Sometime in the last decade, yellow took precedence. I don’t plaster it everywhere like I did black as a teen, but I have splashes of it here and there.
Two—Micah looks at me differently now. In high school, he jumped on the Triple M hate train without learning a thing about me. Back then, he looked at me like gum stuck to his shoe. He said shitty things because he was a popular jock and it was funny to pick on the loner girl.
But now… his eyes hold intrigue when they look my direction.
He must think I don’t notice his traveling eyes or the frequency of his stares. But I don’t miss a single glance. Don’t miss the spark of lust in lapis-blue eyes. Or how they drag over my curves when I face away from him.
I have always noticed Micah Reed.
His angular jaw and lean frame. His slight reservation unless he wants to impress someone. Or the truth his eyes tell, but lips can’t manage. I once believed Micah was a good guy. Someone who would stand up for others when they need it most. But that rule seems to only apply to family, close friends and impressionable people.
Here is my opinion. Micah Reed can suck my dick. If I had one.
“He has no idea,” I answer confidently.
Reese dishes scrambled eggs on to three plates, then adds a hefty portion of hash browns and sausage. He sets the mountainous plate on the bar, then hands me a fork. “His loss, sunshine. Think he’ll figure it out?”
I shrug. “If he does, it’ll be too late.”
He picks up the two other plates and levels me with his gaze. “You say that now, but…”
“But nothing,” I say around a forkful of food.
“Alright.” He starts for his bedroom. “Just prepare yourself for the day he puts two and two together. May not be anytime soon, but it’ll happen.”
I point my fork at him. “Go feed whoever’s in your room and leave me be.”
He strolls down the hall, chuckling. “Love you, sunshine.”
“Yeah, yeah. Love you, too.”
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