I wake to the sound of bacon frying and sit up like a shot, completely forgetting where I am for a second. I blink rapidly, and Mercedes’s bedroom comes into full view. I look over to see her side of the bed is empty, and I exhale as everything comes flooding back into my mind.
I had sex with Mercedes last night.
I had really fucking great sex with Mercedes last night…during the middle of a party.
I hunch over and rub at my eyes, trying to recall how bad I was last night. I came in hot, that’s for sure. But seeing her draped over Dean’s shoulder made it clear to me that he wants more from her—even if Mercedes doesn’t see it yet.
I shouldn’t have come. I knew I shouldn’t have come. Sam was the one who forced me, making me feel guilty for not celebrating this achievement with her after all we’d been through together at Tire Depot. But somehow, I knew if I drove out here, I wouldn’t be leaving. Now, here I am—butt-ass naked in her white, fluffy, really fucking comfortable bed.
This is going to be bad.
I stand and slide into my jeans, my mind clouding with my past and my present, creating this swirling fog of doubt. It’s been a year since Jocelyn and I broke up, and I’m over her completely. Honestly, the bitch can live happily ever after with her old, rich geezer, but I’m still not over the stress of being in a relationship. Of caring for someone so much that you would literally do anything to protect them. That’s why I’m only doing casual right now. I can’t give myself to anyone again. Not yet.
And something about Mercedes screams way too good for casual.
I step into the kitchen, and Mercedes is at the stove in a pair of tight yoga shorts and my black T-shirt I had just been looking for. Just watching her with the morning sun slicing in through the window over the sink, I know damn well, this girl ain’t casual.
I clear my throat. “Shirt thief,” I tease and shuffle over to stand behind her. I put my hands on her cute little hips, and her entire body tenses. “What’s wrong?”
She giggles nervously. “Are you in a pancakes mood? Or a chew your arm off mood? Because I haven’t started the pancakes yet so now is the time to tell me if there’s carnage in my bedroom.”
I press a kiss to her temple with a laugh. “I could eat.” I could eat you is what I’m really thinking. I move over to the barstool at the island to get a better view of her. How is it possible for her to look this cute in the morning? Her cheeks are flushed, and her red hair is tied up in a big ball on top of her head. And she doesn’t look half bad in my giant shirt.
“How’d you sleep?” she asks as she begins whisking some pancake batter in a large glass bowl.
“Like a rock,” I admit.
She bites her lip.
I smirk curiously. “Something I said?”
She nods. “You’d think I’d be more mature about it since I write about this stuff all the time, but I’m not. You had the biggest morning wood I had ever seen in my life when I got up earlier.”
My brows lift. “Well, why didn’t you wake me up so we could do something about it?”
Mercedes smiles a shy smile that is so cute, my dick jumps. My sex writer, fucking shy? Christ, she just keeps getting better.
“You were sleeping so hard,” she explains. “And I figured three orgasms were enough for twelve hours.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “I don’t think you should ever put a cap on orgasms.”
Her eyes find mine, and with one heated look, sexual tension begins to sizzle between us like bacon in a frying pan. She licks her lips. “Are you just going to sit there and make sex eyes at me, or are you going to help me make breakfast?”
I stand up and stretch. “I might need my shirt. It’d be a shame if I burned these with bacon grease.”
I drag my fingers along the ridges of my abs, and Mercedes stares so hard, she starts spilling the pancake batter on the hot burner.
“Pancakes,” I say, looking down at the mess.
“What?” she husks, still staring at my body.
“Mercedes, the pancakes!” I shout as smoke begins billowing up from the spot on the stove. I move quickly around the counter to grab the bowl out of her hand.
“Shit!” she exclaims, snapping out of her daze. She sets the bowl down, turns off the burner, and grabs a rag to clean up the mess. Her sheepish eyes peek up at me through her dark lashes. “Maybe giving you back your shirt isn’t a bad idea.”
Once Mercedes retrieves a shirt from her room, I slip mine on and finish helping her with the food. It’s a very domestic, Saturday morning couple thing to do, and by the time we sit down to eat at her kitchen counter, my thoughts can no longer be ignored.
Drizzling syrup over my short stack, I decide to just come out with it. “I feel like I need to tell you that I did not come here last night to do…that.” I point upstairs and into her room because those are the two places we’ve covered so far.
She frowns nervously. “Okaaay.”
“I mean, it was good, don’t get me wrong. Fucking great actually. But I want you to know that wasn’t my plan.”
She exhales heavily and focuses really hard on buttering her pancakes. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re not in a position to like someone again?”
I set my fork down and stare at her until she looks up at me. “Maybe?” I say, apology all over my face.
Her jaw goes tight, but she looks down, resuming her earlier food prep. “That’s fine.”
I huff, “Is it?”
“Yeah!” she exclaims and looks over at me with a smile. “This is no big deal, Miles. We had sex. You didn’t ask me to go steady. I’m not getting this twisted up.”
“Well…good,” I reply, feeling a little confused as I eat a little more food and let the silence overtake us. Finally, I look up and add, “I just…I get the impression that you aren’t a casual kind of girl, and I wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward situation.”
“Zero awkwardness!” she replies with a laugh, over an enormous bite of pancakes. She puts her fingers over her full mouth and mumbles, “I’m good…great even. I just had really good sex last night!”
My eyes narrow skeptically. She’s acting weird. Weirder than usual. “So what does this mean then?”
She shrugs and takes a sip of her orange juice. “It can mean whatever we want it to mean. We can just stay friends, or not. We can keep having sex, or not.”
I nearly choke on a bite of bacon. “Keep having sex?”
Her cheeks flush. “Yeah! You said I’m not casual, not me. I’m as casual as they come. Casual with a capital C. I write at Tire Depot, for God’s sake.”
My brows lift. “Good point.”
She stands up and takes her half-eaten plate to the kitchen sink. “I’d be up for some casual…honestly. I’m a workaholic as it is, so it’s not like I have time to devote to a boyfriend.”
“Oh?” I ask curiously, annoyed that her comment also makes me feel slightly rejected. I’m such a dick. “But you finished your book. How much work can there be?”
She laughs at that. “Oh Miles, how little you know about my book world. The part at Tire Depot is the easy stuff. Now the hard work begins. Editing. Marketing. On top of that, I’m already starting the next book.”
This has me sitting back on my stool. “Okay then, so what did you have in mind?”
She loads her plate into the dishwasher, her back to me for a good while before she suddenly turns on her heel with wide eyes and exclaims, “Book research!”
“Book research?” I repeat.
She nods. “I, umm…might need some help from you again for book research. Bedroom stuff, not motorcycle ride stuff.”
My brows lift curiously. “What crazy shit are you writing now that you haven’t already covered in your erotic novels?”
She rolls her eyes and moves to prop her elbows on the counter straight across from me giving me the perfect angle of her cleavage in that tight tank top. “It’s not like that. I need help getting into the mind of a man. My Bed ‘n Breakfast series was all told from a female point of view. But for my new book, I want to write in dual point of view. So one chapter will be in the female’s voice, and then one will be in the male’s voice. I’ll alternate between the two.”
My tone is flat when I reply, “I know what dual point of view is, Mercedes.”
“Okay, sorry,” she replies with an embarrassed smile, fingering the towel on the counter in front of her. “Do you think you might be able to help me?” She looks up at me with wide, nervous eyes, clearly anxious for putting herself out there like this.
I stare back and wonder if I can rise to the challenge. More sex with a girl I actually like, but no relationship ties? No strings. No commitment. Can it really be that easy?
I pick up my empty plate and stride around the counter to the sink. I can feel her eyes on me when I reply, “To be crystal clear, you’re proposing friends with benefits, right?” I set the dish in the sink and turn to face her, leaning back against the counter and crossing my arms.
Her eyes stare at my biceps for a moment before she replies with a sweet smile. “It’s a concept as old as time.”
I chuckle and feel a sense of euphoria move through me. This morning is turning out a hell of a lot better than I anticipated when I got out of her bed earlier. In fact, it’s pretty fucking fantastic.
I eliminate the space between us and cage her in, pressing my front against her front. “Should we start now? I mean, I’d hate to see your education suffer a minute longer.”
She laughs and splays her hands flat on my chest to push me back. “Actually, since we’re sticking with the whole friends thing, I was wondering if you could help me with a little project first.”
I waggle my brows at her. “Like a naked kind of project?”
She frowns and bites her lip sheepishly. “You could be naked if you want, but I’m not sure how safe it would be.”
My smile falls.
“Do you think you could help me move my roommate’s shit downstairs? I’m going to get one of those pods delivered this week for his stuff. I want to make that upstairs room into a writing den.”
My brows knit together. “You aren’t going to keep writing at Tire Depot?” The disappointment I feel over that thought isn’t lost on me.
“I don’t know yet.” She shrugs. “I might. But I want to try this out first.”
“Okay,” I reply with a frown. “But you know you could still write there. No one knows about you.”
She laughs and frowns at me curiously. “We’ll see.” She shrugs noncommittally again, and it’s annoying. Why doesn’t she want to write there anymore?
Shaking off my agitation, I step back and spread my arms out wide to stretch. “So what did your roommate do to piss you off that you’re moving his shit out?”
She rolls her eyes. “What didn’t he do?”
I laugh at her cute little flash of attitude and reply, “Well, I’ll definitely help you. This is the stuff guys like me were born to do.” I give her a wink and flex my arms cockily. “Should we shower before or after hard labor?”
She smiles. “Why not both?”