Page 52 of Bad Crush
“Do you want me to make you something else?” I ask her.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Breakfast before ten isn’t really my thing. Healthy or not.”
“I’ll take pancakes,” Rhett calls.
“Someone say pancakes?” Mav busts through the front door, Charli at his heels. He’s still in his boxers, no shirt, like it’s perfectly normal to walk up a flight of stairs from his apartment to ours half-dressed searching for food. And with his dog, no less.
“Oatmeal’s done.” I grab a bowl for myself and then let them have at it.
I step between Reagan’s legs. “Are you sure you don’t want a bite?”
“I’m sure. I’ll wait until an appropriate hour and grab a muffin and coffee somewhere.”
“But I’ve got this perfectly cooked oatmeal.” I spoon some up and wave it in front of her face.
Her lips draw into a flat line, and her head shakes side to side.
“Come on. Open up. You’ll like it. It’s good for you.”
She smiles but doesn’t open.
“Fine.” I eat it and then press my mouth to hers.
“No fair.” She opens, and I sweep my tongue inside. What was meant to be a quick, teasing kiss turns into a mini make-out session.
“Maybe I do like oatmeal.”
When I step back, I realize the guys are watching us. And at some point, Ginny and Heath joined.
“Good morning,” I say to the room.
“It certainly is.” Mav smirks. “Breakfast and a show.”
Reagan hops down from the counter. “I’ve gotta get going. We have rehearsal this afternoon.”
I abandon my oatmeal and follow her into my room. She strips out of my shirt and starts to pull on her own clothes. To which I greatly detract progress by running my hands along her bare skin and kissing her stomach and then her neck.
“Are you coming to the game this afternoon?” I ask as I sit on the bed and use her hips to pull her closer to me.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yeah, of course, but you said you had rehearsal.”
“I’ll be done in time, but you’re sure? You want to take things slow, and—”
“I suck at slow. No more trying to go against the grain. Everything is different because it’s us. Come to the game.”
“Okay.” Her lips pull into a smile. “And us, we’re what? Dating? Sleeping together?”
“We’re…. whatever,” I say. “Exclusively.”
“Exclusively whatever. Got it.”
“Let’s not label it. That part seems to get me in trouble. I like you.”
Her light laughter does funny things to my chest.
“Some might say I’m your girlfriend,” she quips.
