Page 100 of New Growth
I glanced down at my bare arms and exposed stomach. My lace bra wasn’t exactly scandalous, but standing in his kitchen, half-dressed, I felt a little too careless—especially after waking up tangled in his sheets again. Still, he was in no position to judge.
“You’re topless right now, Elliot.” I countered. It was a normal occurrence, actually. He slept topless, worked topless, and cooked topless. The man loved having his chest out.
I mean, I would too, if I had those abs.
“Well, it’s my house,” he mumbled, stirring his coffee.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have any clean tops here. I thought I did.”
He handed me my to-go mug, his fingers brushing mine for half a second before he pulled away.
“Did you check upstairs in the guest room?” he asked, taking a sip from his own cup.
Upstairs?I did keep a few things up there from when we decided to sleep separately.
Look how that turned out.
I sighed. “No, I don’t want to walk up the stairs.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You want me to check for you?”
I perked up. “Could you?”
“If I go up, I’m staying up,” he warned, stretching his arms over his head. His muscles flexed, the light from the kitchen window catching the defined lines of his torso and his insulin pod.
Do. Not. Stare.
“That’s fine. Just throw whatever you find down.”
“Lazy ass.”
“Shut up.”
He smirked as he walked past me, his bare feet shuffling against the floor. One more request came to my mind.
“Oh! And can you call a ride to pick me up, please?” I pouted.
He started ascending the stairs and called out, “Already did. It’ll be here in ten minutes.”
I breathed out in relief. The man was a Godsend.
A few minutes later, I heard him rummaging through the guest room closet.
“There’s a silk blue button-up or a cheetah-print off-the-shoulder.”
I thought about it for a second. “Cheetah print, please.”
He appeared and leaned over the railing, dangling the fabric for a moment before tossing it down. I caught it effortlessly, feeling smug.
“Nice catch,” he praised.
I waved it in victory before pulling it on, the soft fabric cool against my skin.
He leaned against the banister, one hand gripping the railing as he studied me. “What’s your plan for today?”
I fastened the button on my sleeve, smoothing the shirt over my torso. “I have an appointment in an hour, then again at twelve. Late lunch with a few clients, then another appointment at three. You?”
“Meeting with an editor at ten.”
