Chapter 13: BreakfastOversleeping is not one of my favorite ways to start the day, particularly when one has a fictitious world of characters and dialogue to organize, and a precious deadline to meet for a pissy agent in New York City. I walked into the kitchen feeling dazed and confused because of a splitting headache. Feeling sickly, my gaze fell on Tacoma’s sleek body: Boxer Joe’s were snug around his waist as he prepared breakfast, which was a complete surprise since it was already late in the morning. I didn’t smell French toast, bacon, or sausage, but he was preparing something to consume.
Upon sitting at one of the bar stools at the island, leaning over a cup of black coffee that he had already (and kindly) poured for me, I couldn’t prevent my stinging eyes from straying to his mol
