Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

A little makeup remover and a fresh coat of eyeliner and mascara fix the raccoon situation. The makeup looks good, but it feels unnecessary. I don't need a shield right now. I don't need my defenses up.

I can trust Dean.

The thought bounces around my head as I move into the main room.

Dean's standing at the stove in nothing but his black boxers. "You eat eggs?"

Fuck, he wears those boxers. The waistband is slung low around his hips. The fabric clings to his tight ass and his strong legs. His entire back is on display.

My eyes trace the tattoo running over his shoulder. An abstract, geometric design with a modern flair. Classic. Bold. Pure Dean.

"Do I what?" My gaze goes back to his ass. Perfect doesn't begin to describe it. He's on a whole other level of hotness.

He lets out a hearty chuckle as he flips whatever is in the pan. "Do you eat eggs?"

"Yeah." I move into the kitchen. Until I'm two feet from him. "Most vegetarians do."

"Still gonna ask."

"Thanks." My stomach grumbles as the smell of said eggs wafts into my nostrils. "Tea?"

He motions to two mugs sitting on the dining table. A container of honey and a spoon sit between them. "Earl Grey."

"I drink other things."

"No shame in knowing what you like." He flips the eggs. Turns to me. Gives me a long, slow once over. "Was hoping you'd come out here naked."

"I thought about it."

"Damn, where did I go wrong?"

"It was when you insisted you wouldn't fuck me until after the test."

He shakes his head with mock regret. "It's the little things, isn't it?"

"Yeah." I can't help but laugh. He's just so… Dean.

"Sit down. I'll bring you breakfast."

I do. I watch him cook as I stir honey into my tea. He's focused. Intent. Careful. That other Dean, the one that cares about things.

No. That is Dean. He's both guys—the one who has to crack a joke and the one who perfects his tattoo mock-ups.

He turns the stove off, scoops eggs onto ceramic plates, and brings them to the table.

He slides into the seat next to mine and hands over a fork.

"Thanks." I groan through my first bite. "These are amazing." Fresh, soft eggs with tender tomatoes, sharp green onions, and tangy cheddar.

"Sure thing." He wraps his hands around his mug and takes a long sip. "How's your head?"

"Okay. I drank a lot of water last night." My eyes go to the clock. Nine ten now. That still leaves a lot of time to feel normal. I don't want to leave that yet. "How about you?"

"That was nothing for me."

"You are—"

"If you're gonna guess my weight again—"