Page 94 of Love Me Stalk Me
And then a terrifying thought slams into me.
Did we sleep together?
Is that why my panties were off?
Is that why he's shirtless?
What the fuck did I do?
Before I can spiral any further, something else distracts me.
Something even more disorienting.
The smell of coffee.
And food. Really, really good food. The rich aroma of bacon and eggs fills the apartment, making my stomach rumble traitorously despite my hangover.
Just as I'm mentally debating whether I should run or demand answers, Callahan turns around.
And I nearly tripover my own feet.
Because if I thought his back was bad, his front is a fucking war zone. More tattoos, more hard lines, more muscle than should legally be allowed. The ink continues across his chest and down his arms in intricate patterns that draw my eye to every perfectly defined muscle. A dusting of dark hair trails down his abs, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans that sit low on his hips.
And he's holding a mug of coffee.
For me.
I forget how to breathe.
And then another horrifying realization hits me, sending a fresh wave of heat to my face.
I'm barely wearing anything.
The robe I threw on?
It's not even tied shut.
It's just hanging there, wide open, because I always lose the stupid ties. Because why,why, do they not just tie the stupid things into the robe itself? The silky fabric parts to reveal entirely too much of me—sleep-rumpled, hungover, and completely unprepared for this moment.
Callahan's eyes flick down, just briefly, before he looks away. I make a strangled noise, clutch the robe closed with one hand, and spin on my heel.
"Sorry!" I practically yelp, darting back into my bedroom.
I slam the door, leaning against it, pulse racing.
What is happening?
I force myself to breathe, count to five, then stumble to my dresser. I grab some actual clothes, and throw on sweats and—most importantly—a pair of panties.
Because I need something to drench, apparently.
I steel myself and step back out into the kitchen, more clothed, but still not emotionally prepared for this. The worn floorboards protest beneath my feet, announcing my return.
Callahan glances at me as I walk in. "I didn't mean to startle you," he says, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet morning air.
I wave a hand, still flustered. "No, yeah, it's fine. Totally normal to wake up to a half-naked man in my kitchen." My voice comes out higher than intended, betraying my nervousness.
The corners of his mouth lift slightly, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. "I guess we have different definitions of 'normal.'"
