Page 62 of Arrogant Puck

She shakes her head. “I am not sleeping in your bed.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I’m smiling as I head to the kitchen to make her breakfast.

She can protest all she wants about not sleeping in my bed and this being temporary. But we both know she has nowhere else to go, and I’m not about to give her any other options.

In the kitchen, I pull out eggs, bacon, and bread, moving around the kitchen. Cooking isn’t something I do often—usuallyit’s protein bars and takeout—but there’s something satisfying about making breakfast for her.My guest.

She appears in the doorway wearing one of my t-shirts that hangs to her mid-thigh, and I have to focus very hard on not burning the bacon.

“Coffee?” I ask without looking up.

“Please.” She settles onto one of the bar stools, watching me work. “You can cook?”

“Guess so,” I say, sliding a mug across the counter to her.

She takes a sip and makes a face. “Jesus, this is strong.”

“Hockey player coffee. Gets the job done.”

“Gets the job done and strips paint off walls, apparently.” But she keeps drinking it, so it can’t be that bad.

I plate the eggs and bacon, setting it in front of her along with buttered toast. She stares at it.

“I can’t eat all this.”

“Eat what you can.” I lean against the counter, studying her face. “So, what were you doing at a gay bar anyway? Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

She shrugs, picking at her eggs. “I’ve given up on the opposite sex completely.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Completely?”

“Men are...” she waves her fork vaguely, “disappointing. Dangerous. Not worth the trouble.”

“Is that why you were covering your mouth when your roommate tried to kiss you?” I ask, unable to keep the smirk out of my voice.

Her cheeks flush. “That’s different. I don’t swing that way either, apparently.”

“So, you’re what, celibate?”

“Maybe. It’s working out well for me so far.”

I set my coffee down and move closer, bracing my hands on the counter on either side of her stool. “I could change your mind about the opposite sex.”

She looks up at me and laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is mocking and sharp. “You? You’re exactly the type of guy I need to stay away from.”

“What type is that?”

“Arrogant. Controlling. Probably emotionally unavailable.” She ticks off each trait on her fingers. “The kind who thinks his dick is magic and every woman should be grateful for the privilege.”

I lean closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. “Who says it’s not magic?”

She rolls her eyes hard. “Case in point.”

“You seemed to think so this morning when you were—”

“I was asleep!” she protests, nearly choking on her coffee. “That doesn’t count!”

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