SEXT

“I can help,” I protest as he sets about making breakfast, puttering around the kitchen.

“You can, I’m sure,” he admits. “But you aren’t allowed to. You’re only allowed to sit there and relax.” He shakes a spatula at me, threatening. “You’re my guest, Clove, you don’t get to cook.”

I groan in faux-protest and sink back against the cushions. “Fine. But only because I like it when you boss me around.” I stick my tongue out, and he laughs, then turns to finish flipping the omelets he started.

As he does, I catch a glimpse of the book on his kitchen table. “1Q84?”

“Just started it. Have you read it?”

I sit up straighter, grinning. “Oh yeah. I love Murakami.”

“Kafka on the Beach is one of my favorites.”

“You’ll love this one. Especially…” I bite my tongue. “Damn.”

He laughs. “No spoilers! That’s cheating.”

“Okay. I’ll just say you’re gonna love it, that’s all.” Now that I’ve noticed the one book, I let my gaze drift to the shelves beside his TV, chock full of others. “What kind of stuff do you normally read?”

“Little bit of everything. A lot of dystopian, literary fiction. You know, the depressing shit.” He laughs, a little self-deprecating.

“Why do you like depressing books?”

He shrugs. Pauses to flip the eggs on the stove. “I guess it just makes me feel like my problems aren’t so bad. No matter how much shit I might be dealing with, it could always be worse.”

I snort. “Very optimistic world-view.”

“Well, could be worse. I could think my problems are the absolute worst. Then how annoying would I be?”

I grin and roll my eyes. “Fair point.” I can’t help letting my gaze drift to his bookshelf again. I spot at least three of my favorite authors there, along with more than a few who have been on my radar for ages.

Well-read, good taste in music, hot as hell, and he cooks…

He joins me on the couch a few minutes later, two plates of perfectly cooked omelets in hand. I take one bite and my eyes go wide. He added spinach and cheese and bacon and something else, some spices I don’t recognize but that go perfectly.

“How are you still single?” I ask, once I’ve washed that bite down with a sip of the coffee he brewed.

He laughs. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” I gesture wildly around the room with my fork. “You’re hot, you’re smart, you’re fucking fantastic in bed, and you cook? That’s ridiculous. How has some lucky hot girl not snatched you up already?”

“Is the omelet really that delicious?” He shakes his head. “It’s only eggs and some veggies. You should really try cooking more, Clove.”

I narrow my eyes. “I cook! I make a mean ramen noodle soup.”

“Packet ramen doesn’t count.”

I roll my eyes now. “Yeah, well. My ineptitude in the kitchen aside, you’re still a catch. So my question stands.”

“Which question?”

Now I frown. “The why you’re single one, obviously.”

“Oh, you know. Same reason anyone is single.”

“That’s not exactly an answer,” I point out.

“Maybe I just haven’t met the right girl yet.”

“The fact that you’re so obviously dodging the question makes me think there’s more to it than that,” I reply, shaking my fork at him.

He sighs and takes another bite of his omelet. Takes his time chewing it and drinking a long sip of coffee before he answers me. “I don’t trust a lot of people,” he finally admits. “I haven’t exactly had the best history when it comes to dating.”

I snort. When he looks hurt, I spread my hands. “Sorry. I just meant… I mean, obviously I don’t have the best track record either. You had to beat up my most recent stalker of a first date, for Christ’s sake. I can relate.”

“Yeah, he seemed like a real winner. Dating in this town…” Zayne shakes his head.

I frown at him. He’s still dodging. There’s something he’s not telling me. But then again, how long has he known me? A couple of days? No wonder he doesn’t want to go too deep into his backstory. So, fine. He can be weird about this if he wants.

“What’s your weekend look like?” he asks, and I let him change the subject this time.

“Dunno. I was going to use the time to catch up on some reading for work, but…”

He grins at me. Raises an eyebrow. “But?”

“But, I could be persuaded to be naughty and slack off. If, you know… a more interesting opportunity presented itself.”

He takes my plate, the omelet already mostly devoured since I couldn’t help but inhale the deliciousness. Then, gently, he sets it on the end table, his own plate with it. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m easily influenced.” I grin.

He leans toward me. Places one hand on either side of me, and stares down at me. “So, if some other plans came up that involved, say… spending most of the weekend naked and splayed across my bed…”