Page 67 of Bad Boy Next Door
Nineteen
Nick
“Breakfast?” Jade asked on our way up the final flight of stairs at Shady Oaks.
“I’m cookingyoubreakfast today.” I lifted her up the final two stairs, setting her on the landing in front of me.
“You can cook?” With a two-stair advantage, she was a few inches taller than me, and her hands fell onto my shoulders.
I squeezed her hips. “I’ve got skills.”
“I’ve noticed.” She leaned forward and kissed me.
I lifted her as I rose up the last two stairs and crossed the hall to hold her against the concrete wall there, lost in her lips. My body wanted to grind against her, hard, to rip down her jeans, to fuck her right here in the open-air hallway, but I let my brain override my body, barely letting our clothes touch.
Not making it easy, Jade arched her back, brushing her sweet body against mine.
My stomach growled.
Laughing, she broke our kiss. “Was that what I think it was?”
“Sorry. Guess I’m hungry in more ways than one.”
“In that case, maybe it should be me who cooks.”
I set her back on her feet. “I’m going to take that as a dare.” Wrapping my arm around her neck to pull her in close, I steered us down the hall.
“Okay.” She stroked my chest. “In that case, I double-dog dare you to cook for me.”
We entered my apartment.
“Wow. You’ve kept it clean.” She glanced around like she was witnessing a miracle. “It’s been what—two weeks since I cleaned for you? I’m impressed.”
“Like I said. I’ve got skills.” It had been eleven days since she’d been in my apartment. The longest days of my life.
“Beer?” I opened the fridge.
“Sure.”
I handed her one, opened one for myself, then headed for the groceries I’d left on the counter.
“Pancakes?” she asked, clearly spotting the mix I’d bought. “For a rookie, that’s a high degree of difficulty.”
“Sit.” Without turning, I pointed toward the sofa.
“At least let me help.”
I turned, shooting her a mischievous look. “Does that mean I’ve finished my term as your sex slave?”
She laughed. “I didn’t realize cooking was in a sex slave’s job description.”
“Consider it a happy surprise, then. Sit down. Relax.”
“Okay, okay!” Shooting me a skeptical look, she dropped onto my leather sofa, then turned to lean back against the arm, leaving one leg dangling off the side. She raised her head to take a swig of beer. Suddenly I wished I had cushions. Where did one get something like cushions? Were there cushion stores?
“You comfortable?” I asked her.
“Better than comfortable. I’m melting.” She set her beer onto the floor. “I’m not sure when I’ve felt this tired.”
