Page 65 of Suddenly Dating
“In my bathroom?”
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t invite me?” he asked, yawning.
“Trust me, I did you a favor. My look was even more frightening by the light of day.”
Harry reached for the towel between finger and thumb, and pulled it down over her breast a bit. “I like this look,” he said.
Lola pulled the towel back up, then hopped off the bed. “I’m thinking French toast and sausage.”
“Are you kidding?”
She looked at him strangely. “Why would I kid about something like that?’
It occurred to him that Melissa never made breakfast for him—or Harry for her, in fairness. They had busy lives, both of them always running somewhere. He tried to remember the last lazy Sunday they’d had. Whenever it was, he couldn’t recall it—he’d worked so many weekends over the last year. “Where will this breakfast be served? In bed?” he asked hopefully.
“On the terrace. It’s a beautiful morning,” Lola said. “I’ll meet you out there!” she called over her shoulder, and disappeared into the hall.
Harry got out of bed. He showered and shaved, then meandered out to the living area, feeling like a fatted calf—content and sated. It was more than a little surprising how much he’d enjoyed himself last night. Lola was... well, she wasn’t the kind of woman he generally went for. She was different—very different. And that was both refreshing and a little disconcerting.
Lola was pouring orange juice in the kitchen. She’d put her hair up in a ponytail, and had dressed in short shorts and a halter top. Harry brushed past her on the way to the coffee pot, pausing to touch her shoulders and kiss her neck. “Something smells great,” he said.
“I make the best French toast, if I do say so myself. Everyone loves it.”
“I meant you,” he said, patting her hip as he passed her. He grabbed a cup of coffee and went outside. Lola was right; it was a beautiful morning, the air crystal clear, the light brilliant and warm. Just like his mood.
Lola had already set the outdoor table, and appeared moments later with a plate of sausage, and another platter piled high with French toast.
“Are you expecting company?” Harry asked laughingly.
“I told you—I’m starving. I probably burned five thousand calories last night,” she said with a saucy smile.
“I am available to help with calorie burn any time you like,” he said, and dug in, eating with gusto, unaware until this moment just how hungry he was.
Lola also ate with gusto. He liked that, liked a woman who would eat. She sat cross-legged in the chair and poured maple syrup onto her French toast without any apparent concern for diabetes. The two of them ate in silence for a moment, until Lola pointed a fork at him and said, “Okay. What are the rules for friends with benefits?”
“You seem very concerned about rules for once. That’s so unlike you.”
“Shut up,” she said, grinning.
“Okay, how about this one—you keep cooking, and I’ll keep worshipping at your altar.”
She nodded, as if mulling that over. “So... casual cooking for casual sex? Are we talking every day, or...?”
Harry’s brilliantly warm mood was beginning to cool. He knew the sound of trouble brewing and the wordscasual sexset off alarm bells in his brain. He was suddenly uncertain about things. He wasneveruncertain, but he’d had a great time last night. He’d had fun with her at the party, and then in his bed, she’d really blown the lid off things. He had been very turned on by her no-holds-barred response to him. But this felt oddly reminiscent—a woman wanting answers from him that he didn’t have. This thing between them was new and, he would admit, powerful. What he was going to do with it, Harry couldn’t say. Why did it have to be defined and categorized? Why couldn’t they just go with it and see where they went?
“Lola,” he said. He put down his fork and reached for her hand. “This is what it is,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “We’re enjoying each other’s company. That’s all.” He squeezed her hand and let go, and picked up his fork again.
He noticed Lola didn’t resume her meal right away. She propped her chin on her hand and stared at him as he ate.
“What?” Harry asked, bracing himself for an interrogation.
“What if Channing Tatum walked in here tomorrow and swept me off my feet?”
“You should definitely be swept.”
“But what about our arrangement?”
