Page 69 of Truck Me

Besides, it’s not an invitation to date or to even see him again, let alone have another round of sex.

It’s just breakfast. Where’s the harm in that?

* * *

I’m about two minutes into frying the bacon when I hear him stir. It could also be the coffee brewing. Both are making a little noise and adding the most delicious fragrance to the air.

There’s some shuffling around, followed by his heavy footsteps. A moment later, he’s thumping down the stairs.

I don’t look at him. Not because I’m afraid he’ll be upset that I’m still here and cooking breakfast. But because I’d bet my last dollar, he looks sexy as hell first thing in the morning.

He grumbles something that I can’t make out as he steps up behind me. I feel his heat before his hands rest on my hips. He gives me a slight tug back, then kisses my cheek.

“Mornin’,” he says in the scratchiest, sexiest deep voice I’ve ever heard. It’s all rough and gravelly from sleep. Another thing to add to the list of things I really like about Garret.

“Morning.” I smile and make the mistake of looking over my shoulder.

Oh, my heart, be still.

I was right. He’s shirtless. His hair is all disheveled, and his expression is one I’ve never seen on him before. He doesn’t look grumpy or happy. There’s a vulnerability there that makes me want to spin around and hug him tight.

I clear my throat and turn back to the pan on the stove and flip the bacon. “The coffee should be ready. Why don’t you sit, and I’ll pour you a mug.”

He doesn’t move from where he’s standing right up against me. His hands tighten slightly on my hips before he buries his face in my neck and takes in a deep breath. A soft groan escapes him that has me clenching my thighs together. My breathing hitches and I sink against his chest.

We remain like that for a few moments before he releases me and walks away.

When I glance over my shoulder, I regret it. His ass looks so good in those jeans. I stare unabashedly until he disappears into the bathroom.

I’m still standing there staring at where he stood when he comes out of the bathroom. He gives me a knowing smirk before he plops down in the chair facing me. His jeans are undone. I can see a hint of his black boxers underneath. His ab muscles are taut, and the splatter of chest hair is just too much.

What was that about my heart being still?

I turn my focus back to getting him coffee. I’d already set out mugs and plates. I fill one for him then ask, “Do you drink it black? You seem like a black coffee kind of man.”

“Why do you say that?”

I shrug, ignoring how rugged his voice sounds. It’s way too sexy for this early in the morning.

I close my eyes. Rugged is not my type. I like clean cut, city boys. Don’t forget that, idiot.

“Two sugars,” he says a moment later.

A slow smile spreads across my face. “I should’ve known, considering your affinity for sweets.”

I add the sugar to his coffee and almost drop it when I turn around. Facing his intense heated stare first thing in the morning is a completely different experience.

He looks so big in this small space. And it’s not just his size. It’s him. He has a way of sucking up all the oxygen and filling up every empty space in the room with himself.

I try to steady myself as I walk the short distance and set the coffee in front of him. I quickly pull my hands back and ring them together, hoping he didn’t notice how they trembled.

“Scrambled or fried?” I ask.

He takes a sip of his coffee and moans. “You don’t have to make me breakfast.”

“I know. I want to. Now, how do you like your eggs?”

He stares up at me for a moment. There’s a battle warring inside him. I can see it playing out in his eyes. He wants to object, but he’s also hungry.