Page 9 of Knot Your Sugar

I stretch lazily, enjoying the rare sensation of waking naturally instead of being jolted by an alarm. A peaceful smile crosses my face as fragments of last night drift through my mind. The bar. Dorian. The incredible way his tongue felt on my—

My eyes snap open and dart to my bedside clock: 8:13 AM.

"Holy croissants!" I bolt upright. Registration for the Lakeview Baking Festival starts at 9:00 AM sharp, and I'm cutting it way too close. I throw off the covers and nearly face plant over—

Dorian.

He's asleep on the floor beside my bed, half-naked, his dark hair tousled against my throw pillow. For a moment, I just stare, a mortifyingly warm flashback of his attentiveness (and my own lack thereof) flooding my brain.

"Focus, Elena, focus!" I hiss at myself, scrambling for a towel and wrapping it around me like a Roman toga. I need to shower and prepare for the most important day of my career. I begin scooping up my scattered clothes from the floor, tossing his shirt toward him in the process. It lands squarely on his face, startling him awake.

"G'morning to you too," he mumbles, his voice a gravelly, sleep-rough purr that does entirely unfair things to my insides. He shoves the shirt off his face, blinking up at me with an infuriatingly charming confusion, then clocks my whirlwind activity. "Whoa, fire drill?"

"I'm so sorry, but I have to be somewhere in about forty-five minutes," I say, searching desperately for my bra. My clean freak tendencies are screaming at me not to leave without at least tidying up my room a little. "I completely overslept."

Dorian, bless his oblivious heart, sits up, hair sticking up in a way that's almost offensively cute. He stretches, a lazy, feline movement, then, with a casualness that makes me want to scream, reaches under the edge of the bed and plucks out my missing bra. "Looking for this?" He dangles it from one finger, a smirk playing on his lips.

My cheeks heat as I snatch it from his hand like a striking cobra. "Thank you! Listen, I really,reallyhate to be this person, but—"

"You need me to leave," he finishes, standing and gathering his clothes. "Got it."

"I amsoincredibly sorry about this," I say, already backing toward the bathroom. "Last night was... really nice."

He pauses, mid-pant-pull-on, and that infuriatingly attractive smile widens. "Yes, it was. And I have a feeling you might have enjoyed certain parts even more than I did." His eyes crinkle at the corners with an innocent chuckle and a thoroughlynotinnocent wink.

My blush could power a small lighthouse. "Oh. My. God. I am so embarrassed about… well, you know. I was just—"

"Don't be," he says, now wrestling with his shirt buttons. "Actually, I found your… enthusiasm," he pauses for a fraction of a second, "rather endearing."

I don't have time to dissectthatparticular brand of psychological warfare. "Sorry, but I really need to get ready now."

I practically shove Dorian out my apartment, his shirt still half-unbuttoned, him fumbling to tuck it in while simultaneously trying to snag his shoes from just inside the doorway.

"So," he says, one foot in the hallway, looking surprisingly hopeful. "Can I see you again?"

"Uh, I'm going to be really busy the next few days," I hedge, already reaching to close the door.

"Important plans, huh?" he asks, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Themostimportant," I reply, a tad too dramatically.

He smiles, a slow, lingering thing that makes a spark flutter low in my belly. "Cryptic. Well, maybe I'll see you around then or tr—"

SLAM!

I clamp my hand over my mouth, horrified. I didn'tmeanto slam the door in his face. I just… I thought he was done talking. It’ll be a thousand times more awkward to open it again now. What would I even say? 'Sorry, didn't mean to decapitate your sentence, please continue?'

My eye immediately goes to the peephole. Dorian is standing there, hand still half-raised, looking less offended and more… amused? Like he's just witnessed a squirrel successfully operate a tiny catapult. He gives a tiny shrug, a half-smile playing on his lips as if to say,'Well, that just happened,'then turns and heads for the staircase.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I dash to the shower, my heart still doing the cha-cha. Real smooth, Elena. You spend the night with the hottest guy you've met in years, fall asleep before reciprocating, then literally slam the door in his face. Mom would be so proud.

Oh well, I remind myself as I turn on the water. It's not like I was going to marry the guy. It was stress relief. Highly effective stress relief…

I shake my head, allowing myself exactly three more seconds to replay the unfair things he did with his tongue last night… then shove it all into a mental lockbox. Ineedto get ready: finish showering, brush my teeth, get dressed, take a DuoBlocks pill. I'll leave by 8:45 AM,tops.

Chapter five

Elena

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