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“Good morning to you too, dear. Sleep well?” He pulls a mug to his lips and takes a sip.
“Better if it were noon. What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“A.m.?” I groan and pull the covers up over my head. “Why? We went to bed like two hours ago.” Unlike the first time we had sex three months ago, Chris and I had sex multiple times in multiple different positions last night. We’d talked in between, ordered late-night crepes at two in the morning, and fell asleep just as the night started to trickle into the morning.
“I have to take a call.” He sighs and I lower the covers to see the disappointment all over his face. “I’ll be in the living room, but I didn’t want you waking up without me again.” Even though I’m not even fully awake yet, my body hears the sentiment loud and clear and my heart skips a beat. He nods toward the other side of the room and I follow his gaze to see a table with what seems to be an impressive spread of food. “I ordered breakfast. Everything that needs to stay warm is still in the warmer if you’re not hungry yet, but I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.”
I sit up a little to see the table before turning back to the man who may have woken me up but who did it half-naked and with food. At least, he did it with style.
“I like French toast,” I tell him. “So you don’t have to order the whole menu next time.”
“So, there will be a next time?” He smiles before he leans down and presses his lips gently to mine.
I had put on a very short and sexy silk two-piece pajama set for bed—that yes, I bought specifically for this trip—but it barely covered much so when I sit up, I’m practically exposed.
“God you’re fucking hot.” He chuckles as he takes another sip from the mug in his hand. I hold my hand out, wanting his coffee, and he hands it to me. I take a sip without even looking at it and as soon as it hits my tongue my instant reflex is to spit it out. I hold it in my mouth and make a face before looking down at the damn near white coffee.
He chuckles and gives me a look. “You okay?”
I reluctantly swallow and hand him back his mug. “What is this?!”
“Coffee?”
“This is…cream…with sugar? I detect no coffee. The color of this coffee looks more like you than me!” I let out a sigh.
“I like my coffee sweet.”
“You drink scotch straight. That nasty Macallan shit and you drink this in the morning?”I scrunch my nose, hating the taste it left behind.
“You’re being dramatic. This coffee is brown by the way.” He rolls his eyes as he points to the mug.
“It needs to be darker than me,” I tell him pointing to my hand and let out a sigh.
“Fine, how do you take your coffee?”
“Black. Like how God intended.”
He snorts in response. “Ah, so you’re a coffee snob. Noted.”
“Hey, I enjoy a good latte every now and then or a cutesy little drink with a four-dollar splash of almond milk from a coffee shop but for the most part, I just want it black. And it shocks me that you like this. God, do you drink frappuccinos too?” I get out of the bed and he lands a slap on my ass.
“I love a frappuccino.” I scrunch my nose because if I’m going to drink a frappuccino, I might as well get a milkshake. I move towards the table and take in the food. He really did order the whole menu. I’ll admit, I’m more tired than hungry, but he pulls something out of the warmer and I smell the cinnamon before I see it. He pulls off the top and I nod vigorously as I reach my hands out suddenly starving.
I mean I guess I did work out for multiple hours last night.
I sit on the ottoman and he sits next to me, drinking his horrible coffee. “So, are we doing anything before we see Hamilton?” I say as I cut into my French toast.
“So…I actually have two more meetings this afternoon that I couldn’t move.” He winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. When I envisioned today, no part had me working.”
“What did you envision?” I ask before pushing a piece through the river of syrup on my plate and taking a bite. “Holy crap, this is good.” I cut another piece and hold it out for him. “Try it.” He wraps his lips around the fork, pulling the bread off slowly, his eyes not leaving mine, and I don’t know how he makes eating French toast look sexy as hell but I avert my eyes before I suggest finding another use for the syrup in front of us.
“That is good. I’m normally more of a waffles guy, but that is great,” he says as if he doesn’t realize how much that simple act has affected me. “And to answer your question, I was thinking we could just walk around Central Park, maybe go to the Met or MOMA. But based on when my meetings are, that may be tough. I do have another idea though.”
