The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

I meet his gaze, and he studies my expression for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on, Sophie. It’s just a cat.”

“A black cat,” I clarify.

“You know that’s a ridiculous superstition,” he sighs.

“I need to go home,” I say, keeping my eyes on that cat as I move away from the bed.

“I made breakfast,” Jared says, and as if his words break some magical barrier spell, the scent of bacon wafts up my nose. “Stay and eat, then I’ll take you home”

I want to decline his invitation, but the heavenly smell of bacon is making my stomach grumble. Loudly. Jared hears it and smiles. My growling stomach flops over at the sight of that smile, and I find myself nodding in agreement before I can stop the movement.

“Great,” he says, his smile broadening. Pointing to his left, he adds, “The bathroom is through there. I left a spare toothbrush on the counter for you. Do you like scrambled eggs?”

I nod, and he returns the gesture before spinning around and heading toward the door. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue, and Deuces hops off the bed and follows Jared out…moving directly across my path to the bathroom.

“Awesome,” I grumble, striding toward the doorway Jared had pointed out as my full bladder suddenly makes its presence known.

After using the toilet, I move to wash my hands and freeze, staring at myself in the mirror with horror. I look like fucking hell with my hair a tangled mess and last night’s eyeliner and mascara coating the bags beneath my eyes. Great.

After cleaning my hands, I look down at the counter to see not only a packaged toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, but also a hairbrush, an elastic band, a bottle of facial cleanser and a fluffy, clean washcloth. I study the items for a minute before grudgingly admitting to myself how thoughtful this all is.

I turn on the warm water and wash my face, secretly loving the masculine scent of the soap. Once my skin is squeaky clean, and I no longer look like a zombie, I smooth on some of the moisturizer, which smells like oranges and vanilla. After brushing my hair and tying it up into a ponytail with the elastic, I open the toothbrush and clean the taste of ass out of my mouth.

Feeling much more human, I head out of the bathroom and walk out into the hall, letting my nose lead the way. With the open floorplan, it’s not hard to find the kitchen, even in a place this size. Soft music plays from hidden speakers as I step up to the bar and watch Jared’s hips sway to the slow beat as he scoops eggs from a frying pan onto two plates. He’s wearing a t-shirt now, and it hugs his arms and shoulders, showcasing the muscles I saw earlier.

He turns and spots me, stilling as his gaze roams over every inch of my face. I can feel my cheeks heating, knowing the freckles I work so hard to hide with makeup are on full display. Jared’s head shakes slightly, and he walks forward to place a plate on the bar in front of me. Looking down, I notice a glass of orange juice, a cup of steaming coffee, a carton of creamer and a bowl of various sweetener packets beside it, a glass of water, and a bottle of aspirin.

“I wasn’t sure what you like to drink with breakfast,” he says with a hint of self-derision. “The aspirin is for you, too. Do you have a headache?”

I nod shallowly as I slide onto the stool. Opening the aspirin, I shake two into my palm and throw them back before chasing them with the whole glass of water. Jared sets the second plate in front of the stool next to me, then walks around the bar to sit. I ignore the way his proximity makes my skin jump as I stir some creamer and several packets of sugar into my coffee.

“Sweet tooth?” he asks before shoveling a bite of eggs into his mouth.

“Definitely,” I say, taking a careful sip of the delicious brew. Setting the cup down, I turn toward him, studying his profile. “This is weird.”

He looks at me, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “What do you mean, weird? You’re only having breakfast with your boss, a man you detest, after passing out drunk in his car and sleeping in his bed with his unlucky cat.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” I quip, my smile matching his. I look back down at my food before glancing back up at him. “I hope you know the Heimlich.”

“Excuse me?” he says, his eyes wide and offended.

A laugh barks out of me, and I shake my head. “I’m not saying I think it’s going to be bad. It smells delicious, actually. But with my black-cat-bad-luck, I’ll probably end up choking.”

Jared shakes his head and chuckles. “You’ll be fine. I don’t believe in luck, remember?”

“I remember,” I sigh, then pick up a slice of bacon and bite off the end.

A little groan of pleasure vibrates in my chest as I chew carefully, then swallow. Grabbing my fork, I stab a bite of eggs and push it between my lips. My groan is louder this time as the flavor bursts on my tongue.

Holy shit, this is good. I’d always found eggs to be bland and tasteless, but apparently, I’ve just never had them cooked right.

“Good?” Jared asks, pulling my attention back to him.

“Mmm,” I hum, swallowing the eggs before asking, “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“My father taught me,” he says, and there’s a sad note in his voice that tugs at my heart.

“Well, it’s delicious,” I say. “Thank you for cooking for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he says softly.

We remain mostly silent through the rest of the meal, but it’s a comfortable silence. When we finish, Jared takes our dishes and loads them into the dishwasher. He moves smoothly and confidently through the motions, and I have to force my eyes away from him so I don’t stare like some kind of psycho.

Afterward, he asks if I’m ready to go home, and I nod. He leaves the room, then comes back with my shoes and purse. I thank him quietly, and he nods, then leads me out to his car in the garage.

I’ll never admit it out loud, not in a million years, but I’m kind of sad to leave. We’re actually getting along, and it’s…nice.

Maybe too nice.

Definitely too good to be true.