Page 72 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
And smile and smile…
My body aches in the best way—that satisfied, well-used feeling that makes me want to stretch like a cat and purr.
Parker’s still asleep, his face half-buried in the pillow, one arm flung across the mattress. His hair sticks up in ten directions, and there’s a red mark on his shoulder where I might have gotten a little bitey during round three.
Or was it four?
My brain’s too sex-drunk for math. Or counting.
I slip out of bed as quietly as possible, snagging one of the plush hotel robes from the bathroom. All my clothes seem to have vanished into whatever dimension clothes disappear to during desperate hotel sex.
But that’s okay, a girl doesn’t need clothes to order room service.
Twenty minutes later, I greet the waiter at the door, tip generously, and wheel a cart loaded with half the breakfast menu into our suite. Parker’sstillsprawled across the covers like he’sposing for the cover of a romance novel—The Naked Hockey Player with the Monster Cock who Murdered my Vagina by Makena DeWitt.
But it was a good murder.
Excellent, in fact.
So excellent, I’m still grinning as I singsong, “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” I park the cart beside the bed. “I brought sustenance.”
Parker cracks one eye, then both, a slow smile spreading across his face that makes my chest tight. “You’re here,” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep.
“Where else would I be?”
“I was afraid I dreamed you,” he says.
“You didn’t,” I assure him, heart squeezing again at his sweetness as I lift the first silver dome from its plate. “I am very real, and I ordered everything. Pancakes, eggs Benedict, fruit, bacon, fancy potatoes, and six different pastries.”
He pushes up on his elbows, sheet sliding dangerously low on his hips. “You’re an angel.”
“I’m hungry,” I correct, handing him a fork. “I bet you are, too. We burned a lot of calories last night.”
“Preach.” He scoots up against the headboard, making room for me beside him. “My abs are actually sore. My fucking muscles are clearly not in peak condition.”
“Felt pretty peak to me.” I climb onto the bed with the fruit plate. “But I’m happy to help you stay in better shape moving forward.”
“Like I said. An angel.” He pops a strawberry into his mouth with another wicked grin.
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, passing dishes back and forth, pouring coffee, stealing bites from each other’s plates while the waves crash outside. The morning feels soft and golden and almost too good to be real.
If I look at it directly, it might vanish like a mirage in the desert.
“So,” Parker says, spearing a potato with his fork. “We missed the crab suicide watch last night. Are you sad?”
“Very sad,” I say, trying not to stare as his lips close around the potato. It’s a little embarrassing that I’m still this hot for him after everything we did last night, but…here we are. “Though I’d argue our alternative activities were nearly as fun.”
“Agreed. But I think there’s another viewing party tonight. Same beach, same time, same potential for crustacean-based disappointment.”
I grin. “You want to try again?”
“I mean, we did drive all this way to watch shellfish fling themselves to their doom.” He steals a piece of my bacon—the thief. “Seems wrong not to give it another shot. We could walk down to the pier, see if we can score tickets.”
“True. I want to walk the pier anyway. Find some terrible tourist t-shirts for our collection.”
“‘I Got Crabs in Mobile’ shirts are a must,” he agrees solemnly.
This is good. This is us, bantering over breakfast like we’ve done since we moved in together. Like last night didn’t fundamentally change what I realized sex could be, when you’re with someone who sees everything and hides nothing.
