Coffee and sex are the two finest pleasures in the world. And when you can have them both at the same time? Well…actually, better not, because hot coffee and thrusting, exposed bodies don’t really go together. You end up scalded and in the hospital with a segment on Sex Sent Me to the ER.

Back to my somewhat weird point: coffee and sex go together like coffee and chocolate. Or sex and chocolate. Or chocolate-covered sex.

Sorry, I’m just waking up from, like, three hours of sleep. It was a great night.

When I finally open my eyes after the most athletic and fantastic sex of my life, I smell an aroma of heavenly roasted coffee beans, and know that this day is off to a wonderful start. I stretch and roll over to the now empty side of the bed. Fraser must be up and about, preparing said heavenly coffee. I luxuriate in the still-present warmth of his body, the manly soap-and-cologne scent of him. After we banged on the couch, we banged on the dining room table, then in the hallway, then in the doorway to the bedroom. We finally managed a last, fantastic bout on the bed itself, which was definitely more comfortable than the floor. I guess beds are designed for that sort of thing.

I haven’t had lovemaking that strenuous or continuous since college, and I don’t think Fraser has, either. The weirdest and most wonderful part is that I’m still ready for more. My body tingles at the thought. Maybe after a quick cup of coffee, we can try christening the hallway broom closet. I think it’s the only place in the apartment we didn’t have sex last night. The idea of Fraser’s hands on me again, his chest, his…other generous physical endowments, it all makes me kind of want to skip even coffee and get him to rejoin me in…

“Are you still sleeping? These eggs are very precisely timed.” Fraser’s voice booms in from the kitchen, as rugged and masculine as possible when talking about breakfast.

Right, still kind of a control freak, still a stiff. God, I think that makes him even more attractive. I roll out of bed, and find a bathrobe he’s laid out on a chair. How can someone so curmudgeonly also be so considerate? It’s a man’s bathrobe, of course, and it nearly slides off of me as I pad into the kitchen. Sure enough, the coffee is poured, there are what appear to be soft boiled eggs, and…holy shit.

The most sugar-dusted, delicate looking almond croissants are waiting on a plate. Groaning, I plop myself down and shove one halfway into my mouth before I realize this looks kind of undignified. Fraser’s just poured a cup of coffee, and is watching my animalistic disembowelment of my croissant with a raised eyebrow.

“Like what you see?” I ask in reply. Granted, I’ve still got a pastry between my teeth, so it sounds more like ‘lah wuh oo ee?”

“I was right. You still have a sweet tooth.” He slides me a cup of coffee—in a perfect pristine mug, I should mention—and leans his elbows onto the breakfast counter. He appears to be fighting a smile. “Some things never change.”

“That’s going to be the mantra of our relationship, isn’t it? ‘Some things never change.’ Emma still has a sweet tooth. Fraser still stares at wall sockets and broods. Emma is still a shark whisperer. Fraser still plays Rhapsody in Blue on his nose whistle.”

Fraser’s mouth quirks. “Come again? Did you say relationship?”

The delightfully airy pastry goes heavy and soggy in my mouth—and not just because that’s what pastries naturally do when you eat them. My cheeks flush, and my heart rate skyrockets. Shit. I came on too strong, and now he’ll think I’m clingy. I mean, who wouldn’t cling after seven rounds of great sex? I don’t even mean physically, I’m talking emotionally. Oh God. I haven’t said anything. I need to say something. I…

“Um, did you say relationship? Jinx!”

That. Is. What. I. Just. Said. I. Should. Not. Breed.

Fraser watches me with that aloof, unimpressed calm of his. Now we’re going to eat breakfast in awkward silence, and I’m going to get dressed and leave, and we are going to have the most awkward Christmas party exchanges ever. Something to the tune of ‘remember that time we had sex, here’s a new picture frame for your family.’ Maybe I should just spit and run right now. Maybe—

Then Fraser closes his eyes and laughs. A full-throated, unafraid, downright delighted sound. It’s free and easy, and smothered under layers of deep, masculine pleasure. Gooey, syrupy, masculine…I need to keep eating.

“I’ll tell you something,” Fraser says once he gets himself back under control. He saunters around the corner of the counter: see, folks, sauntering. Jesus, it’s hot. I swallow my bite of croissant as he lifts my chin, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to mine. “I’m looking forward to it.”

All other thoughts flee my mind—coffee, sugar, jinxes—as he kisses me. The first is a quick brush of lips, and a surprised grunt from Fraser. “You taste like sugar,” he says appreciatively. He claims my mouth in a deeper, fuller kiss, which might in part be to get the sugar off, but hey. It turns me on, so it stays.

And he likes it. He likes ‘it,’ the word relationship, all of it. Me. Don’t tell anyone, but I can be a little haphazard when it comes to relationships. It’s like those kids who are always awkward at dance class: no matter what I do, or who I study, I keep tripping on other people’s toes or falling over into a pile of tulle and taffeta.

Not that I wear tulle on my dates. Much.

But with Fraser, it feels so effortless. It’s like I finally found the clumsy, studly, perfect man to dance the naked mambo with. And the naked mambo is my favorite dance.

In fact, I pull him against me and hook my legs around his waist—being up on a barstool puts me on perfect eye level with him. Fraser’s hands slide underneath the front of my robe, cupping my breasts. My nipples are pert and at attention, sir. Who needs coffee when you can wake up like this?

And then my phone, which I left on the coffee table, starts blaring. ‘Hey, kiddo, remember me? This is your last warning that if you’re asleep or dancing to the radio or hopefully entwined in something sexy and indecent, you have fifteen minutes to get your butt to work.’

That’s the recording I put on my phone of me telling myself to get into gear: the ‘last warning’ sort of thing.

Fuck. I am supposed to be at work. It is more than fifteen minutes away.

I leap off of Fraser and his growing erection (my precious) and slide down the hallway to the bedroom, where I all but hop into my clothes. Looks like it’s a Risky Business kind of morning, save the ol’ time rock n’ roll and the fact that Tom Cruise never got lucky enough to hook up with Fraser Drake. Regret that all your life, Tom.

“I assume breakfast is off?” Fraser leans ruggedly in the doorway—how do you lean like a manly man? However you can do it, this guy does it. I shimmy into my dress and slip on my shoes. Yep, I’m doing the walk of shame. Hopefully no one will notice.

Except Casey. I’m about to get the girlfriend grilling of all time, and I can’t wait.

“Can I make it up to you?” I maybe wiggle my ass just a little bit to tempt him. I am only human, after all, and so is he. Fraser’s eyes track to my posterior. He looks very happy to see it.

“Dinner, tonight?”

“We can start there.” Now I’m all dressed, and slide into the bathroom where I gargle with some of his mouthwash and clean myself up as best I can. He watches me the whole time, looking more and more amused with every minute. I’m adorable, what can I say? Once I’m ready to rock, I grab him around the neck and give one long, lasting last kiss. And I do it very well, because it’s a further three minutes before I can disentangle myself. I am so late.

I am so happy.

“I’ll pick you up after work.” Fraser takes my hand as I’m hiking my purse onto my shoulder.

“If you can take me home first to change, that’d be amazing.”

“Is every outfit you own this enticing?”

“I have an Avengers tee shirt I can pull on.”

“My arousal knows no limits.”

And then I’m out the door and into an Uber. Fraser offered to drive me, but I know he’s got work to do of his own. Plus, now I get to sit in a back seat and gaze stupidly out at the LA skyline with the morning sun rising behind it. Sit back, relax, and think about last night.

The driver asks what’s wrong when I start panting like one of Pavlov’s dogs. And maybe drool a little.

Of course, it’s not all free and easy. When I finally make it to work, Casey’s waiting at our shared workspace with wide eyes and pursed lips.

“Girl, you are forty-five minutes late,” she whispers when I plop down in my chair. “And you are dressed exactly like last night.” I pick up the manuscript I’ve been reading and give it five seconds for her to figure it out. “And my Spidey sense tells me you got some action.”

“It was the first three Die Hard movies level of action, only without Alan Rickman, Jeremy Irons, or stepping on glass in bare feet,” I tell her, my voice pitched low and knowledgeable. That’s right, I compare sex to 80s and 90s action extravaganzas, though I leave out the last two movies in the series. Those can suck it.

Casey whistles. “You must teach me your ways.”

“It’s simple. You need to wait seventeen years for the kid you hated in high school to grow into a comely, well-seasoned sexbag. Then, proceed to hump the sexbag’s brains out.”

Casey nods. “So one day Melanie Winters might finally turn around and realize I’ve been waiting for her the whole time?”

“You never know, kid. You never know.” We giggle at that, and I’m about to get back to reading, when my phone buzzes. I pick it up, and at once I hear a sultry, seductive man’s voice in my ear. Unfortunately, it’s not the voice I want more than any other.

“Emma. You just get to your desk?” Gavin sounds as easy and smooth as always.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Traffic.” I lick my lips and cringe at Casey. Maybe that’ll be good enough?

“Care to join me in my office for a second?” He’s all smiles and ease, but it’s definitely not an invitation I can turn down. I hang up, make the ‘please shoot me’ sign at Casey, and she obliges by holding up an invisible gun and mouthing ‘pop.’ So close, but no go. I head in to Gavin’s office, attempting not to wobble or yawn. Three hours of sleep is not enough for the working woman, folks.

He looks up from his computer when I enter, and flashes that breathtaking smile. In the early morning, with the sun slanting in from the windows in his corner office, he’s lit up to look like the god of sex. And normally I’d be all weak-kneed and quivering, but now I can only imagine Fraser. Fraser sternly pouring coffee, Fraser glowering at a cocktail. Fraser’s eyes, lighting up with an intense spark, as he pins me down and rides me to the point of—

“Waaaah.” That is my opening line to Gavin. He takes it in stride.

“Sit down, please.” He gestures to a chair before his desk. I take that seat, though I feel a little weird doing it. Kind of like being back in sixth grade and waiting in the principal’s office. Waiting to be told that no, you can’t challenge kids to a dance-off in history class, complete with shouted lines from Will Smith movies in moments of triumph. Ah, to be a child once more.

Sorry, gotta listen to the boss.

“You’re usually one of the first people to the office. Imagine my surprise when I walked in to find your desk empty.” Gavin says it all with a pleasant ease, like it’s a joke between us: imagine me getting angry at you? Wink wink.

Normally, it’d make me blush just to think of. Right now, though, it feels kind of…scoldy? Like he said, I don’t show up late. I am on time. I know for a fact that a lot of the popped-collar douchebags around here slouch in around lunchtime and then head back out to the golf course at quarter past two. You know, the world’s so hard for those with bleached teeth and polished assholes. Real challenge.

“Sorry. Honestly, I just forgot to set my alarm.”

Gavin’s eyes trail over me, and I remember that I’m dressed extra fancy today. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he lingers on what is definitely not my face. A little further south, if you catch my drift. “You made such an effort today. I’m glad it didn’t go to waste.”

Does he think I dressed like this for him? I mean, what’s worse: Gavin thinks I’m trying to catch his eye, or he knows all about my magnificent, sweaty evening of the night before? Or is there an option C: fake amnesia and forget my own name?

“Er, thanks.” I’m perched on the edge of my seat. “I’ll see myself out, then?”

He holds up one hand, like he’s the commander or something. ‘Stay,’ that’s what the gesture says. Doesn’t even ask. That gets my gut cramping with unease. Maybe some annoyance as well.

“I’d hate for all this work of yours to go to waste, Emma.” His magnetic blue gaze catches mine. “How about we try again? Dinner, tonight.”

It’s not just Fraser. Gavin’s weird ‘sit down little girl’ talk and smirk have kind of turned me off, in a big way. I don’t feel any regret when I say,

“Er, I’m not sure that’d be such a good idea.”

Man, he likes the sound of that. “You play hard to get very nicely. It’s one of the most attractive things about you.”

Hate to burst your bubble, dude. “I mean that I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it.” Yes, I know, it sucks that I have to use the ‘another man peed on me so you should find another womanly tree’ excuse. But it’s true (sort of, if Fraser and I are truly becoming a thing) and it rocks Gavin back onto his heels. Metaphorically, I mean, it’s hard to rock on your heels when you’re seated. Though I’d like to see him try, for science.

Okay, break’s over. Back to reality.

Like I said, Gavin looks surprised. No, more than surprised. Stunned is the correct word. It’s kind of insulting how shocked he is by this apparently gobsmacking revelation.

“That’s fast work, isn’t it?” He leans forward, laying his hands on the desk. All business now.

“Sort of. Actually, he’s your old college friend. Remember?” I mean, by ‘old college friend’ I could also have said ‘that guy you must have had angry sex with’ or ‘the man who killed your father and then you swore a poetic blood oath to one day destroy him.’ Fraser and Gavin were not exactly pleasant to each other. Then again, Fraser wasn’t pleasant; Gavin seemed pretty cool.

And he looks like he’s about to lose that cool now that I’ve brought Fraser into the conversation. “You’re kidding.”

He does not sound pleased. Kind of flat, really.

“Miracles do happen, I guess.”

“You must have had a late night.” Now he’s looking at my clothes like they personally insulted him somehow. Now he’s putting the pieces together and realizing that this swank little cocktail dress wasn’t for him; it was for Fraser.

And I didn’t have time to go home and change. Gavin squares his jaw a little; I do believe a vein is pulsing in his neck. The whole alpha male displeasure thing might please some women, but it makes me feel anxious.

“So I’m…gonna go, if that’s all right.” I get up out of my seat, and Gavin’s entire body relaxes. He reclines back in his ergonomic chair, the Master of Cool. Except for a little squeezy stress ball; I see him pick that bad boy up and start squeezing.

“You might want to go home and change before heading back to your desk.” Gavin flashes that megawatt smile of his. “It’s more professional that way.”

Hello, Jack Frost. I do believe you’ve swept into this meeting to work your freezing magic. Because Gavin might be all smiles, but it’s more like lockjaw than something genuine. Nothing says sexy like a man straining against tetanus.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Before I hit the door, I turn. “You still up for that Blaire Lavender pitch later today?” Crap, what if the deal’s off the table now? But Gavin simply nods.

“After lunch, like we agreed.”

With that, I walk out of the office and back to my desk to call for an Uber. And while on the way, I try to shake off the creepy vibes I just picked up. Because I may be a woman who comes in to work wearing a cocktail dress and carrying a spangled clutch purse, but I am not to be trifled with.

Honestly, I’m a little proud of myself as I call that car. I handled myself well, without blurting out inappropriate things or semi-apologizing for my burgeoning relationship.

A girl’s gotta grow up sometime.