Page 53 of Not Just Gal Pals

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JENNY

Light infiltrated the slits between my eyelids, waking me.

Opening my eyes, I looked around the room, disoriented. A plain wooden dresser, full-length mirror, and a built-in closet all looked unfamiliar. My chest tightened. Where the hell...?

Suddenly, the memories of last night rushed back to me, and I let out a deep breath of relief, relaxing back into the bed. I was at Blake’s. And the reason the room looked so unfamiliar was because I’d been deeply distracted by Blake last night. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I’d forgotten our mind-blowing sex for even a second.

It wasn’t just that the orgasms were mind-blowing—although they had been incredible. It was also the emotional connection, the feeling of closeness, of sleeping with someone I liked and who actually seemed to like me back, that had blown me away. Yes, there’d been mutual attraction in the relationships I’d had in the past few years, but this had...this had felt different. When I’d looked into Blake’s eyes, my heart had somersaulted as I saw something—something deeper than lust or attraction—reflected back at me. It had felt amazing last night, but this morning, the memories knotted my stomach. This can only end badly.

I rolled over, hoping the sight of Blake next to me would reassure me this was a casual fling that could end without heartbreak, but I found rumpled white sheets and a pillow where Blake should have been.

Clambering out of bed, I searched the room for my clothes, spotting my jeans and socks in the far corner of the room, my bra half under the dresser, and the rest of my clothes on the floor right next to Blake’s side of the bed. I dressed and went looking for Blake.

Blake’s house was an adorable cottage. Well, it was adorable from the outside at least, with its white weatherboards with blue trimmings and a blue door, nestled in a slightly overgrown English country-style garden. The inside had a lot of potential—gorgeous wooden floors, a fireplace in the living room, and large windows—but it was noticeably bare. Like Blake had moved in and never gotten around to properly decorating the place, which was almost certainly what had happened. It was in stark contrast to my vibrant, rather cluttered apartment in LA.

I heard a door bang and followed the noise down the hallway to the kitchen, pausing at the door to take in the scene in front of me. Blake, hair mussed, wearing gray sweatpants and a “Columbia University” navy hoodie, stood over a pan on the stove, an intense look of concentration on her face. Fred was sitting on a bar stool on the other side of the counter, observing her. A blast of warmth hit my chest at the sight of them. I leaned against the door frame, keen to enjoy this charming domestic scene unnoticed for as long as possible. The movement must have caught Blake’s attention because she looked up.

Her face broke into a smile at the sight of me. “Good morning. I thought I’d make us pancakes.”

“Yum! I love pancakes.” The warm feeling in my chest intensified. I couldn’t remember the last time someone I was dating had cooked for me. And Blake’s smile was also doing things to me. Warm, gooey things.

Her smile faltered. “I’ve never actually made pancakes before. Hopefully they’ll be okay.”

It was kind of adorable seeing Blake, who was usually so competent and confident, looking concerned about cooking. I walked up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I’m sure they will be delicious. Can I help?”

Blake hummed, clearly enjoying my embrace. “No, I’ve got everything under control, thanks. They should be ready any minute. Would you like coffee?”

“Coffee would be amazing,” I said, suddenly desperate for a caffeine hit.

I disentangled my arms from Blake and joined Fred on the bar stool next to him, watching Blake make coffee.

Fred didn’t appear concerned by my presence this morning, so I tentatively gave him a gentle pat. He started purring, so I kept going, pushing away guilty thoughts of Walter who would almost certainly be outraged at this scene. But Fred was so damn cute, with his flawless silver-gray coat of hair, green eyes, and adorable little nose. He jumped over onto my thighs and nuzzled into my stomach.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend.” Blake grinned, handing me a coffee, and then turned back to the pancakes.

“Shit!” Blake exclaimed just as a burning smell reached me. I looked up to find Blake looking flustered, holding the pan off the stove with one hand and swatting smoke away with the other.

“I got distracted making the coffee. Well, at least I have more batter,” Blake said as she deposited a blackened disc into the trash.

Ten minutes later, Blake placed a large pancake in front of me on the dining room table. My stomach rumbled in anticipation. Last night’s activities must have used a lot of energy.

“Okay, they look a little strange, but at least they’re not burned,” Blake said as she took a seat next to me.

They did look a little strange. Like they’d risen very high, and then...collapsed. But it didn’t matter what they looked like, what mattered was the taste.

I smothered them in maple syrup and took a bite.

Oh god.

They tasted disgusting.

Chalky, salty, and bitter, despite my generous pour of maple syrup. I forced myself to swallow it without grimacing.

Blake looked at me expectantly, so I managed a weak, “Mmmmmm.” I looked down at the giant pancake and nearly threw up thinking about trying to eat the rest of it.

Blake’s brow dipped at my unconvincing noise. I was about to force down another mouthful when Blake took a bite.