I liked her.
And I wasn’t sleeping anytime soon, so why should the object of my current restlessness be sleeping in on a Sunday morning?
The moment the idea sprung to mind, I didn’t even think twice. Shortcake probably wasn’t going to be happy with the plan, but no one—not even her—could resist my banana-nut bread.
Gathering up my items, I strolled toward the front door. There, I heard Ollie mumble, “No tomatoes. Extra bacon.”
“What the?” I looked over my shoulder at him. He was still on his stomach, his check plastered to a throw pillow my mom had given me, dead to the world. “Freak,” I muttered, slipping out of the apartment.
At Avery’s door, I knocked softly at first, not wanting to wake the neighbors, but when a full minute passed and I hadn’t heard footsteps, I knocked hard and kept knocking.
After what felt like an eternity of me banging on her door like the police and turning around to make sure I didn’t have anyone seconds away from shooting my ass, I finally heard footsteps and then the door swung open.
“Is everything okay?” she asked in what was possibly the sexiest voice I’d ever heard.
I spun back to the door, getting an eyeful of a bedraggled Avery.
Coppery hair hung in loose tangles, flowing down her shoulders and grazing the golden skin of her arms. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her in a short-sleeve shirt before. My gaze, all on its own, traveled sideways and stopped, devouring the way the thin shirt she wore stretched across the swell of her breasts. With a will I didn’t know I possessed, I forced my eyes to her flushed face.
Suddenly unsure of what the hell I was doing, I offered a crooked smile and said to hell with it. “No, but it will be in about fifteen minutes.”
“W-w-what?” She moved out of the way as I slipped past her. All the apartments were the same, so I knew where the kitchen was, but I did a quick scan of the living room. The furnishings looked new—the couch and dark end tables. A black moon chair sat beside a TV. No pictures hung on the walls. The moon chair was possibly the most personal thing in the room.
“Cam, what are you doing? It’s eight in the morning.”
“Thanks for the update on the time. It’s one thing I’ve never been able to master: the telling of time.”
She trailed after me, and I could feel her staring daggers in my back. “Why are you here?”
“Making breakfast.”
“You can’t do that in your own kitchen?”
“My kitchen isn’t as exciting as yours.” I placed the eggs and bread on the counter and faced her. Scrubbing her eyes, she looked so damn cute, and I wished I was wearing something more decent than sweats and a shirt I wasn’t even sure was clean. “And Ollie is passed out on the living-room floor.”
“On the floor?”
“Yep. Facedown, snoring and drooling a little. It’s not an appetizing atmosphere.”
Her lips twitched into a quick smile and then quickly disappeared. “Well, neither is my apartment.”
I folded my arms as I leaned against the counter. “Oh, I don’t know about that . . .” I let my gaze wander the exquisite length of hers. Her nipples were hard, pressing against her shirt, begging to be touched, licked, and kissed and God knows what else I would do to them. Lust slammed into my gut and I almost took a step toward her. “Your kitchen, right this second, is very appetizing.”
She flushed. “I’m not going out with you, Cam.”
“I didn’t ask you at this moment, now did I?” I grinned. “But you will eventually.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m determined.”
“More like annoying,” she retorted, brown eyes twinkling.
“Most would say amazing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Only in your head.”
“In many heads is what you meant.” I turned to the stove. “I also brought banana-nut bread baked in my very own oven.”
There was a pause. “I’m allergic to bananas.”
I wheeled around. “Are you shitting me?”
“No. I’m not. I’m allergic to bananas.”
“Man, that’s a damn shame. You have no idea what you’re missing out on. Bananas make the world a better place.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Well damn. Apparently she could resist my banana-nut bread. “Anything else you’re allergic to?”
“Besides penicillin and guys who bust up into my apartment? No.”
“Hardy-har-har.” I turned and bent, opening the nearest cabinets. “How many weaker, less-assured guys have you slayed with that tongue of yours?”
“Apparently not enough.” Her gasp was audible. “I’ll be right back.”
I had no idea what she was up to, but I doubted she’d leave the apartment. Humming under my breath, I found a pot to boil eggs in and filled it with water. Plopping it on the stove, I cranked up the heat. I could hear her back in her bedroom, her soft footfalls, heavier than I thought they’d be. A couple of moments went by and I turned to the doorway. It was quite possible that she would lock herself in her room.
Dammit.
“Hey! Are you hiding back there?” I yelled. “Because I will come back there and drag you out.”
“Don’t you dare come in here!” she shouted.
I laughed softly. As appealing as seeing firsthand what she was doing was, I didn’t want to end up in the hospital for doing so. “Then hurry up. My eggs wait for no one.”
By the time she returned, I found shredded cheese and had decided she was going to eat hers sunny side up. I didn’t say anything even though I knew she was there, staring at me.
“Cam, why are you over here?” she finally asked.
“I already told you.” I eased the eggs onto a plate and walked it over to the small table pressed up against the wall. “Do you want toast? Wait. Do you have bread? If not, I can—”
“No. I don’t need toast.” She watched me, eyes wide. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”
“There are a shit ton of people that I could reward with my presence, but I chose you.”
Her mouth moved, but there was no sound and then she spun around, hopping up on the chair, pulling her knees to her chest as she picked up a fork. “Thanks,” she muttered.
I raised my brows. “I choose to believe that you mean that.”
“I do!”
I turned back to the stove. “I doubt that for some reason.”
There were several seconds of silence and then. “I do appreciate the eggs. I’m just surprised to see you here . . . at eight in the morning.”
Waiting for my eggs to finish boiling, I found myself watching her. “Well, to be honest, I was planning to woo you with my banana-nut bread, but that shit ain’t happening now. So all I have left are my delicious eggs.”
“It is really good, but you’re not wooing me.”
“Oh, I’m wooing.” I went to her fridge and found some OJ. Grabbing two glasses, I poured some sweetness and sat one in front of her. “It’s just all about the stealth. You don’t realize it yet.”
She ducked her gaze to her plate. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I am. I like boiled eggs.” Sitting across from her, I rested my chin in my palm. Her hair fell forward, nearing hitting the plate. She kept batting the strands away. She was so fucking cute. “So, Avery Morgansten, I’m all yours.”
Her lashes swept up. “I don’t want you.”
“Too bad. Tell me about yourself.”
Shortcake pressed her lips into a thin line. “Do you do this often? Just walk into random girls’ apartments and make eggs?”
“Well, you’re not random, so technically no.” Pushing up, I checked the eggs. “And I might be known to surprise lucky ladies every now and then.”
Which wasn’t exactly true. I mean, if I somehow found myself in someone else’s place and I was up, I’d make breakfast, but this? This was a first. But she didn’t need to know that.
“Seriously? I mean, you do this normally?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “With friends, yes, and we’re friends, aren’t we, Avery?”