I grin at the longing in her voice. “There’s a great place not far from here. Best pancakes in town.”
“Mm, that sounds good. But, I don’t have a bra, remember?”
“Shit. How could I forget?” I squeeze her tight, remembering the warm heavy weight of her breast in my hands just minutes ago. “I think I might have some breakfast stuff here. How ’bout I make you breakfast?”
“Now you’re talkin’.”
Reluctantly, I let her go so she can pull on her clothes. I make no move to get up, and enjoy her body as it moves, her skin flushed from sex. Hot.
She searches the floor for something she can’t seem to find. Her eyes meet mine. “Where are my socks?”
“Don’t need ’em, Mouse. It’s hot as hell in here.” In more ways than one.
“My feet are cold.” She continues her search.
The memory of my first visit to her apartment, wearing those damn pink socks on her feet, flashes in my mind. What’s up with the cold feet?
“Your feet, but not your legs?”
She shrugs, a blush creeping into her already flushed cheeks. “Yeah. It’s weird, I know.”
I throw off the sheet and head to my dresser. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants for myself, I tug them on then open my top drawer for one more thing.
“Here.” I hand her a rolled up pair of my favorite socks.
She tucks her hands in close to her stomach and looks at my offer like it’s alive.
I laugh and push them to her. “Socks. Take ’em.”
“Oh, I don’t want to take your socks, if I could just find mine. Do you remember—”
“I want something of mine on you.” Whoa. What the fuck? But… yeah. That’s true. My woman’s feet are cold, I want to be the one responsible for making them warm.
Her lips part, and her eyes are wide. She’s silent.
“You gonna go statue on me or put the socks on so I can make you breakfast?” I shake the socks at her again.
She reaches out and grabs the rolled cotton. A slow smile spreads across her face. “The socks.”
“Good choice.” I lean in and drop a kiss on the tip of her nose.
She tugs the socks on and up to her knees. “Mmm, these are super cozy.”
I grab her hand, needing the feel of her skin on mine, and lead her down the hall.
In the kitchen, she doesn’t sit at the bar while I cook. She’s in there with me, moving around, while we laugh and joke about anything and nothing. I make coffee while she mans the griddle. Her outfit looks just as cute on her tight body this morning as it did when she stormed my door last night. And infinitely better now that she’s in my socks. I always thought women looked their best done up in tight clothes and freshly made up faces. I was wrong.
Her eyes catch mine, and a tiny smirk on her lips says that she knows what I’m thinking, and she likes it. Yeah, I’m definitely getting her naked again before she leaves.
I grab my supplements and stir together my morning concoction.
She flips four pancakes then turns to me. Her gaze falls to the myriad of jars and canisters on the counter. “What’s all that?”
I hold up my shaker-cup. “Shake. Doc’s orders.”
“Prescription shake?” She grabs the glass jar of liquid drops and brings it close to her face, squinting. “Do you know what any of this stuff is?” Her brows pinch together as she reads the fine print. “Theobromine? Nicotinamide Adenine Din—I can’t even pronounce that one.”
I swallow a large gulp. “Don’t know, don’t care. Doc says it’ll keep my back from flaring up, seems to be helping.”
She moves on to the canister of powder. “Do you know what’s in this one?”
I shrug. “Nope. Tastes like pickled dog shit though.”
Her lips twitch, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I’m slightly grossed out that you know what pickled dog shit tastes like.” She scrunches up her nose, does an “icky” shiver, and smiles. “Okay, so I’m kinda like your girlfriend now, and I’m also a mom, so I have some experience in this area.” She raises her eyebrows, and I nod for her to continue. Hands on her hips, she juts out her chin. “You shouldn’t take anything, even if it’s prescribed by a doctor, unless you know exactly what it is.”
So cute. After staring at her for a few seconds, trying like hell to keep down the laughter building in my chest, I swallow in a final attempt. And fail. Laughter bursts from my lips, and I throw my head back.
“What?” Her shrieking question has me laughing harder. “It’s not funny.”
Still chuckling, I pull her into my arms. “Mouse, the UFL is a respected fighting organization. They’d never approve anything that wasn’t safe for their fighters.”
Hugging me around my waist, she lifts her gaze to mine and tilts her head. “I don’t know. I’d be nervous about putting things in my body that I can’t even pronounce.”
“Yeah? Can you pronounce Blake’s Snake?”
She smacks my chest, giggling.
“How ’bout Blake’s tongue? Blake’s finger—”