Closets Are for Clothes

Chapter 3: Payback is a b***h-1

Chapter 3: Payback is a Bitch

Oatmeal was such a satisfying breakfast. I made the already warm and filling meal extra tasty and nutritious with the addition of sliced strawberries, blueberries, ground flaxseed, and toasted almond slivers. Today I had a half grapefruit on the side. Together with a mid-morning banana, it would easily take me all the way to lunchtime.

I liked to start my day with a nice big bowl as I browsed through my news and f*******: feeds. I got up a little earlier than would be strictly necessary on work days because I loathed rushing through my mornings. A brief shower and shave to wake me up, then I could take it easy for an hour or so, filling my belly, sipping a morning blend of tea—I loved the smell of coffee, but had never acquired a taste for the stuff—and reading. I didn’t have to be at my office until eight o’clock, and got out at five.

I clicked on a news article, not thinking anything of it, when faint sounds of muted footsteps, the snick of the bathroom door closing, toilet flushing, and water running in the sink arose behind me. It wasn’t unusual for people to get up to empty their bladders, then crawl back into bed.

I looked up with a start when Wes strolled into the kitchen, running his fingers through some wild and crazy bedhead, wearing sleep pants that hung so low it had to be deliberate, and no shirt whatsoever. Payback was a b***h.

I was dressed in standard “business casual,” wearing a bright blue polo shirt over khakis, so he had a decided and unfair advantage. Decided, anyway, although the fairness was in question since, although I’d taunted him last night, he was kicking it up three notches. Plus, I was on my way to work without the option of another shower to take the edge off.

My face heated, but I managed to say, “Stuff’s still on the counter if you like oatmeal,” in what I hoped was a normal voice, but I was pretty sure it sounded a bit strained—or maybe choked, as in choking on my tongue while trying to speak.

His mouth quirked into a grin, which he quickly checked. Bastard. “Good morning. And thank you, yes, oatmeal’s fine.” His head swiveled as he seemed to be searching for something.

Oh. “Looking for coffee?”

He turned hopeful eyes in my direction. “Please?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t drink it. The coffee maker was Amber’s so she took it with her.” I kind of felt bad as his eyes widened in apparent alarm. “This tea’s got caffeine, if that’ll help. Probably a little less than half of what’s in a cup of coffee, though.”

His face scrunched, lessening the appearance of alarm and replacing it with an air of dubious conviction, but he looked around again and I took pity on him despite—or maybe because of—the way his chest heaved.

“Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the stove, and there’s about a cup’s worth left in the pot there.” I got up and turned the kettle back on. Clearly I’d need to brew another pot. “I don’t use cream, so I don’t have any, but there’s milk in the fridge if you want it, and sugar in the pantry, third shelf down.”

“Thanks.”

I kept my eyes on task, nowhere near his prominent treasure trail, exposed hip bones, or thick patch of flattened chest hair, a shade darker than the sandy blond on his head, and especially away from those adorable dimples above his butt. I concentrated on breathing evenly, and relied on habit to refill the infuser basket and insert it into the now-empty vessel to brew a fresh pot.

He gulped down that first mug of tea and prepared his bowl. I sat again at the table and glanced dolefully at the open laptop. Much as I wanted to latch onto any excuse to avoid gawking at the fine-looking pecs on display across from me, I wasn’t going to be rude. And certainly, in different circumstances I’d be just as happy conversing as I would be engaging in the more solitary pursuit of reading.

I trained my gaze on his face. “What are your plans today?”

“Buy a coffee maker.” He grinned and peered at me with a much more casual regard than he’d managed last night. “Otherwise, I’ll look through your food stores, if that’s okay, and top things off with a trip to the grocery store. That seems fair since you’ve already got stuff here that I’m eating. I’d love to go with your plan to split the grocery bill going forward, though.”

“Yeah? That’d be great.”

“I’ll try to get those boxes of books and stuff emptied out, too.”

“No huge rush if your errands take too much time.”

He nodded and glanced apologetically toward the stove. “Like I said yesterday, I don’t have cooking experience, but I guess I can follow instructions as well as the next guy, so if you want me to take a stab at fixing dinner tonight…”

His voice trailed off, and much as I appreciated the offer, I didn’t have the heart to mess with him. He grimaced, seeming almost fearful that I might. “Nah, you’re off the hook today. I’ve got beef stew stuff in the refrigerator. I’m going to chuck it into the slow cooker before I leave.”

“Awesome.” His frown transformed into a grin. On the other hand, maybe he was using my obvious unease to wrap me around his little finger. I narrowed my eyes and he winked—winked!—at me.

No doubt I was blushing as severely as he’d been last night, because my face was certainly warm enough. I shoved back my chair and stood. Clearly, he was on to me. He was probably testing me this morning after getting suspicious last night. The only question now was who would admit the mutual attraction first? And what would we do about it?

I got busy in the kitchen, putting together my lunch, and with a quick consult to the crock pot cookbook to double-check the appropriate seasonings, I tossed ingredients into the slow cooker and turned it on low.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a silky-toned voice murmured, “I’ll take care of the cleanup,” directly behind me. He snickered at my knee-jerk pearl-clutch.