Page 54 of Under One Roof

When I get up, I smack her ass. “No. I’ll make you breakfast.”

As Andi slips into the en suite, I head to the kitchen to give Cat his breakfast before jogging back upstairs. Leaning against the doorframe, I watch Andi rummage through my bathroom cabinet, helping herself to my toothpaste. She squeezes a dollop onto my toothbrush, tosses the tube back onto the shelf, and starts brushing her teeth as if she’s done it a thousand times before. Strangely, I’m not grossed out. In fact, I find it oddly endearing, the way she’s making herself at home in my space.

She catches my eye in the mirror, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth. “What?”

“Nothing.”

She rolls her eyes but loses the battle with her smile. After she finishes, she hands me the brush for my turn while she splashes water on her face, the little baby hair around her temples wet. Once we’re both finished, she tugs on my T-shirt that she wears, her legs bare. “Can I borrow another one of your sweatshirts?”

“You don’t have to ask.” I wave my hand toward my closet, and she helps herself, finding a hoodie to pull over her head. It hangs almost to her knees, and I reach out to tug on the strings. “My clothes look better on you anyway.”

She blushes a pretty pink, and I don’t hesitate to take hold of her face, my hands on either side of her cheeks, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. My new favorite way to wake up in the morning. Next to Andi, brushing our teeth together, kissing lazily. It’s only when I smooth my hand up her thigh to her bare ass that she backs away from me. “You said you’d make me breakfast.”

Her pussy is so much more appetizing, and I grunt unhappily. “I did, didn’t I?”

Almost as if she can hear my inner thoughts, she laughs. “You don’t have to make it.”

“No.” I cup the back of her head to kiss her once more. “You’re getting fancy French toast.”

“Ooh la la.”

“We’ll circle back to this later,” I say, letting my fingers caress the curve of her ass and down to where she’s bare beneath my T-shirt and sweatshirt.

In the kitchen, I plug in the portable griddle and add cinnamon to the egg and milk mixture as Andi watches from the seat I insisted she take.

“I’m not sure any man has ever cooked for me before,” she says quietly, like she didn’t mean to admit it out loud.

I glance over my shoulder. “Is it wrong to say that makes me glad?”

She crosses her legs and sets her chin in her hand. “No. But why do you feel glad?”

I shrug, turning back to the task at hand. “Just do.”

“That’s not an answer.”

As the French toast sizzles, I work on cutting up strawberries and a banana. “I hate that you’ve had the bad experiences you’ve had, but I’m not really sorry that means you sort of avoided men altogether. Because men are shit.”

Behind me, she giggles. I don’t think I’m particularly funny, but it makes me feel brand-new whenever I earn a smile or laugh. Although, I shouldn’t be so impressed with myself since she laughs easily. Smiles even more.

“I don’t need to go on dates or have sex to know that,” she says. “But if men are shit, does that include you?”

I don’t answer until after I’ve divided the fruit onto two plates and flipped the French toast. Then I face her, leaning against the counter. She’s staring up with wide eyes, and I’d sooner break my own heart than break hers. “I’ve done shit things in the past.”

“Like what?”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t know. The usual bullshit things guys do. Not returned calls and texts.”

“You were a ghoster?”

I nod, not one ounce of guilt. “Got her name on a Saturday, never spoke it again after Sunday morning.”

“Savage, Captain.”

“I don’t trust people,” I say before I even really comprehend the words, and Andi tilts her head, studying me. She hums curiously.

I swing around to remove the French toast from the griddle and add them to our plates before retrieving the maple syrup and can of whipped cream from the fridge. I don’t usually have it, but the shopping lists have been subtly changing since Andi has moved in, and now I have things like Reddi-Wip, Nutella, and salt-and-vinegar chips in my kitchen.

I spray a dollop of whipped cream on my fruit and a whole heap on hers. When I finally bring our breakfast over to the table, she lights up. “Very fancy. Thank you, Griff.”

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