Nunzio reached up to smack my ass. After flipping him off, I tugged up my jeans and stumbled to his bedroom, managing to get there with only one crash against the wall.
I ripped off my T-shirt and threw myself facedown on the bed, leaving the door open. It wasn’t quite an invitation, but I wouldn’t have minded if Nunzio took it as one.
Chapter Seven
I T FELT bizarre to stand in Nunzio’s kitchen cooking breakfast after what had happened the previous night. I had spent the night in his apartment more times than I could count and had cooked a hangover breakfast for us almost every Sunday for the past ten years. Had our fooling around changed that dynamic? There was no way to tell until he woke up, but I worried the entire time I scrambled eggs and poked at the bacon with a fork.
A loud yawn floated in the archway from the living room. I tensed and listened as Nunzio’s slow, heavy footsteps headed to the bathroom. My eyes remained on the pan, but I lost focus, hyperaware of every move Nunzio made in the apartment.
An edge of paranoia worked its way through my bloodstream, infecting my flimsy shreds of confidence about handling the situation. I’d leapt out of bed with remnants of regret and a gripping fear that I’d made a massive mistake by throwing myself at him, but resolved to act as normal as possible to see if he followed my lead. The directive had guided me out of bed, through the process of washing up and finding a change of clothes, and to the kitchen. I hadn’t doubted the plan… until now.
The bathroom door creaked open, and I took a quick glance at myself in the reflection of one of the glass cabinet doors. The memory of his heated stare and murmured words of appreciation prompted me to run a hand through my spiked-up hair, which was a red flag in and of itself. I’d never cared how I looked in front of Nunzio before.
“Aw, were you gonna make me breakfast in bed?”
“You wish.”
Nunzio stood beside me with his phone in hand and looked into the pan of bacon. “Maybe you should just let me do it.”
“What?” I looked down. The bacon was starting to burn on one side. “Fuck.”
Nunzio nudged me out of the way and confiscated the fork. I hovered by his side for a moment, close enough to notice the damp curls of his hair around his face and smell his minty toothpaste, before I turned to the coffeemaker.
I poured a cup and took a seat at the tiny dinette before giving him a discreet once-over. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of cotton pants that hung just low enough to draw my gaze to his ass.
Nunzio flipped the bacon and glanced at his phone. “Damn, this election is getting ridiculous. I don’t know why the union is supporting totally useless candidates for mayor. Dude must have blown someone to get this much support.”
The word blown just reminded me of the night before, and I wondered if normal adults could make it through the day without taking everything as an innuendo. Or a reminder of past sexual experiences. Not that six hours was that far in the past.
“Anyone will be better than who we have now.” I nodded at the covered pan on the back burner. “There’s eggs.”
“I’m surprised I had any.”
“I am too. They were almost expired. You should go shopping.”
“I should start doing a lot of things. I need to start going to the gym again too. I’m going to get all out of shape.”
“Yeah, you really look in danger of that.”
Nunzio patted his stomach, fingers smacking the bumps and ridges of his abs. I stared at the light trail of hair that went down his stomach and disappeared into his pants. I looked away to avoid ogling his bulge.
Did I use to check him out like this? I didn’t think so, but there was no real way to tell if I’d always done it, or if I was just more conscious of it after having had his dick in my mouth.
“Hey, you never know,” Nunzio said. “My metabolism could drop, and I could wake up one day with a gut. Anything could
I ripped off my T-shirt and threw myself facedown on the bed, leaving the door open. It wasn’t quite an invitation, but I wouldn’t have minded if Nunzio took it as one.
Chapter Seven
I T FELT bizarre to stand in Nunzio’s kitchen cooking breakfast after what had happened the previous night. I had spent the night in his apartment more times than I could count and had cooked a hangover breakfast for us almost every Sunday for the past ten years. Had our fooling around changed that dynamic? There was no way to tell until he woke up, but I worried the entire time I scrambled eggs and poked at the bacon with a fork.
A loud yawn floated in the archway from the living room. I tensed and listened as Nunzio’s slow, heavy footsteps headed to the bathroom. My eyes remained on the pan, but I lost focus, hyperaware of every move Nunzio made in the apartment.
An edge of paranoia worked its way through my bloodstream, infecting my flimsy shreds of confidence about handling the situation. I’d leapt out of bed with remnants of regret and a gripping fear that I’d made a massive mistake by throwing myself at him, but resolved to act as normal as possible to see if he followed my lead. The directive had guided me out of bed, through the process of washing up and finding a change of clothes, and to the kitchen. I hadn’t doubted the plan… until now.
The bathroom door creaked open, and I took a quick glance at myself in the reflection of one of the glass cabinet doors. The memory of his heated stare and murmured words of appreciation prompted me to run a hand through my spiked-up hair, which was a red flag in and of itself. I’d never cared how I looked in front of Nunzio before.
“Aw, were you gonna make me breakfast in bed?”
“You wish.”
Nunzio stood beside me with his phone in hand and looked into the pan of bacon. “Maybe you should just let me do it.”
“What?” I looked down. The bacon was starting to burn on one side. “Fuck.”
Nunzio nudged me out of the way and confiscated the fork. I hovered by his side for a moment, close enough to notice the damp curls of his hair around his face and smell his minty toothpaste, before I turned to the coffeemaker.
I poured a cup and took a seat at the tiny dinette before giving him a discreet once-over. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of cotton pants that hung just low enough to draw my gaze to his ass.
Nunzio flipped the bacon and glanced at his phone. “Damn, this election is getting ridiculous. I don’t know why the union is supporting totally useless candidates for mayor. Dude must have blown someone to get this much support.”
The word blown just reminded me of the night before, and I wondered if normal adults could make it through the day without taking everything as an innuendo. Or a reminder of past sexual experiences. Not that six hours was that far in the past.
“Anyone will be better than who we have now.” I nodded at the covered pan on the back burner. “There’s eggs.”
“I’m surprised I had any.”
“I am too. They were almost expired. You should go shopping.”
“I should start doing a lot of things. I need to start going to the gym again too. I’m going to get all out of shape.”
“Yeah, you really look in danger of that.”
Nunzio patted his stomach, fingers smacking the bumps and ridges of his abs. I stared at the light trail of hair that went down his stomach and disappeared into his pants. I looked away to avoid ogling his bulge.
Did I use to check him out like this? I didn’t think so, but there was no real way to tell if I’d always done it, or if I was just more conscious of it after having had his dick in my mouth.
“Hey, you never know,” Nunzio said. “My metabolism could drop, and I could wake up one day with a gut. Anything could
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