Page 29 of Best of Me

I stretch awake with a crick in my neck and painful indentations around my ribs from sleeping in my bra. My first question is…why did I sleep in my bra?Followed quickly bywhy did I sleep fully clothed? How did I even get home?I’m baffled—like I really don’t freaking get it. I know I didn’t have but the one drink and Duke—oh my God, Duke!Suddenly all of last night comes rushing back at me.

We straight up hashed it out and had a come-to-Jesus kind of talk. I confessed my deepest, darkest secret to him, and instead of hating me, he comforted me. But if he drove me back here in my car…then how did he get home? I guess he either called an Uber or had a friend pick him up.

After stripping out of last night’s clothes, I toss on a short, silky black and white striped robe, grab a clean towel and head downstairs, desperate for coffee and a hot shower.

I’m passing through my small living room when something catches my eye. And by something, I actually mean a bare-chested, tatted-up piece of male perfection snoozing away peacefully on my way-too-short-for-him couch. The sight is completely drool-worthy, the way he’s laid back with one strong arm tucked behind his head and the other resting, I assume, on his lower belly, though it’s impossible to say with my bright magenta throw blanket covering him from the waist down. My inner dirty-girl is all too eager to imagine his hand a little lower, wrapped around himself, stroking.

My thighs squeeze together at the thought, and when I see his hand move slightly beneath the blanket, a squeak passes my lips. I pinch my eyes shut, sending up a quick prayer that he stays asleep before attempting a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Cricket,” Duke murmurs as I move past him, his voice thick from sleep.

“Hi. Bye. Coffee!” I speed up, practically running to the kitchen, dropping my towel along the way. I know I should pick it up, but that means facing him again, and that’s not going to happen—at least not yet.Way to go, Mally, you finally manage to reconcile with him only to act ten shades of crazy.

His throaty laugh follows in my wake and I’m cursing myself for being so lame. But, really, who can blame me? Even when my ex spent the night, he was always gone long before I woke up, so this whole morning after—can you even call it that without sex?—is completely foreign to me.

I start a pot of coffee with my cheeks still flaming hot, hoping against all odds he’ll let my awkwardness slide. But when he struts into the kitchen, my towel draped around his neck, clad in only his boxer briefs with a noticeable bulge in the front, I know he has no intentions of that.

The coffee maker stops percolating, and I whirl around to retrieve two mugs—and to hide my embarrassment and arousal. But he steps up right behind me, crowding me, his firm body brushing mine. I arch away from him, trying to avoid any skin-on-skin contact, but all that does is push my ass directly into his pelvis. Duke groans at the contact, and his right hand comes around, landing on my hip, clamping me to him in a possessive gesture that sets my heart on fire and my blood speeding through my veins.

With his left hand, he reaches above us to the cabinet and extracts two mugs. He places them on the counter, keeping me pinned to him for a second or two longer before stepping away.

Unconsciously, I glance down at his package as I turn to face him. My blush deepens to atomic red when I notice his bulge has turned to a full-on erection. And from the looks of it, he’s freaking packing. Like, there’s-no-way-it-could-fit huge.

I audibly gulp and he laughs. “Eyes up here, Cricket.”

“How about that coffee? Do you want some coffee? I definitely want some coffee.” I fill both mugs with trembling hands and push one his way. “Mmm, coffee!”

Smirking, Duke says, “Why don’t you saycoffeeone more time?” His teasing dispels some of the lust hanging in the air, and a small giggle passes my lips.

I move past him to the fridge, keeping an almost comical amount of space between us, and reach for my carton of heavy cream. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Sugary.”

I quirk a brow at him. “Really?”

“Hell yeah. As sweet as humanly possible. Preferably with chocolate and caramel. Oh, and whipped cream.”

I stare at him in disbelief. I know, I know. I’m totally stereotyping him based on his appearance. But this big, broody, hulking man is the last person I ever envisioned drinking such frilly coffee.

“Well, I’ve got heavy cream, chocolate syrup, sugar, and…vanilla ice cream.”

Duke shoots me a crooked grin that hits me right in the gut, and…other places. “I can definitely work with that.”

I wave him forward. “Be my guest.”

I grab the sugar bowl while he gathers up the ice cream and chocolate syrup. I’m torn between incredulity and horror as he adds two spoonfuls of sugar to his still-steaming mug, followed by a healthy pour of both heavy cream and syrup. He then adds a scoop of ice cream, topping off his tooth-rotting concoction with a liberal drizzle of more syrup.

He takes a sip and sighs happily. I, on the other hand, shudder in repulsion. “That is…I have no words.”

Duke shrugs unapologetically. “I like what I like.” He eyes me long and hard, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s referring to more than just the coffee.

“Sooo,” I address him over my mug, drawing out the word. “Last night…”

He takes another sip, licking away the liquid sugar clinging to his upper lip. “What about it?”

I take another gulp, buying myself some time. “It was a lot. You know, to take in.”

“It was,” Duke agrees. My stomach knots.Did we cover too much ground too fast? Not enough? Has he had a change of heart?As though he’s attuned to my rioting thoughts, he abandons his sugary confection on the counter and steps into me, wrapping me in a warm, comforting embrace. “Chill out, Cricket, I can practically see your mind racing.”

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