Page 67 of Just The Way You Aren't

"It was more of a unilateral decision on his part," I reply dryly. "I've learned it's easier to negotiate with him than fight."

She grins, stealing a piece of bacon. "See? You're already adapting to life with pets. You'll be ready for one or a dozen of your own in no time."

I chortle at the very idea. "I think I'd prefer to visit yours and leave it at that."

Though the idea of visiting regularly—of having a reason to be here every morning—doesn't sound like the nightmare it should.

I'm not sure how or when the idea of making this a regular thing—makingusa regular thing—took root in my mind, but there it is. And it's worse than that, actually. Because the idea is not only in my mind, but in my heart as well.

When did I become the kind of man who thinks about relationships? But looking at Willow, watching her laugh as she feeds a piece of bacon to her pit bull, I know the answer. It started the moment she demanded I help her with that damn kitten.

I finish up at the stove and then we settle on her couch—which, despite its obvious age and a few tears in the fabric, is surprisingly comfortable. As I dig into my omelet, I realize we're eating like college students, plates balanced on our laps, no proper table setting. My fork has a suspiciously bent tine, and the mismatched knife looks like it's been used from timeto time as a screwdriver. The old me would have found this entire situation ridiculous.

The new me does too, but I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. "This is… nice."

"Yeah," she says, smiling at me as she brings her own abused fork to her lips.

Christ, even the way she eats is sexy.I shift on the couch, trying to ignore the way my body responds to something as simple as watching her mouth move.

"Slumming's not so bad after all, right?"

I look around her apartment—at the eclectic mix of furniture, the pet toys scattered about, the morning sunlight streaming through windows that could use cleaning. It's nothing like my pristine townhouse, yet somehow, it feels more like home than my place ever has.

"I don't think of your home as slumming, Willow. Having breakfast here with you is just different from what I'm used to."

"Different how?"

"Well, for starters, I usually eat breakfast while reviewing the morning's emails. And I definitely don't have a pit bull mix trying to steal bacon off my plate."

She laughs, scratching Tiny behind the ears. "Sounds lonely," she observes, her voice gentle.

"It is," I admit, surprised at how easily the words come. "I just never really noticed it before."

Before you.Before I knew what it felt like to wake up next to someone who makes me laugh, who makes me want to forget about work and schedules and everything except how good it feels to be with her.

Willow sets down her plate and shifts to face me better, tucking one leg under herself. The movement makes her tanktop shift, and I catch a glimpse of the skin I spent so much time kissing last night. My hands twitch with the urge to reach for her.

"You know, it's actually nice to see you smile for once."

"What do you mean?" I ask, feigning indignation. "I smile plenty."

"When? The first time we met, you looked like you were on your way to fire half of Manhattan. Even when you helped with Pixie, you had this permanent scowl going on." She demonstrates, furrowing her brow and pursing her lips in an exaggerated grimace.

I can't help but laugh. "I did not look like that."

"You absolutely did. I thought maybe it was just your face."

"My face?"

"Your resting grump face." She grins. "You know how some people have resting bitch face? You have resting CEO face."

Now I'm really laughing. "Resting CEO face?"

"It's very intimidating. All stern and judgmental. Like you're constantly evaluating everyone's quarterly performance."

I shake my head, still chuckling. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe. But am I wrong?" She steals another piece of bacon. "When was the last time you really let loose and laughed, Damien? I mean, before I came along and disrupted your precious schedule."

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