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Apparently the humor of the situation was lost on him. He just nodded and slid into the seat next to her, shoveling eggs, bacon, and biscuits onto his plate and looking contemplative. It was almost unnerving, how easy all of this seemed to him. Like he thought this wa
s an in and out kind of thing.
"Seriously?" She tried to bate him again, but his only response was to crunch into a crisp slice of bacon and nod again, saying between chews.
"It's creepy."
"Like, almost as creepy as finding your boss in your kitchen while you’re, um, indecent?" She pulled her tank top and his gaze followed her, searing through the thin fabric until she felt distinctly naked. After the way he’d kissed her last night, though, he might have made her feel naked with all of her winter sweaters piled on top of her.
And what was with the kiss? That was the real question, wasn’t it? More so than all this talk of moving in or studying her. She had to know how her felt. Or if being around her made him feel even half as exposed as she felt.
She cleared her throat, trying her best to sort through the mountains of questions he’d unleashed. "Thanks and everything. For the breakfast. But this is still pretty bizarre. Imagine if I showed up at your house in the wee hours of the morning and set up shop."
"Would you have brought bacon?" He raised his eyebrows before shoveling a helping of eggs into his mouth.
She sighed and munched on another buttery, flaky biscuit. She may as well give up. This was a moot point. Checkmate. Spock would be her constant companion until her fake wedding and then she'd head back home to take care of another person who needed her. Such was life. A series of complete and utter catastrophes.
At least she had food to ease the weirdness.
"Probably not. I don't like bacon. Or eggs. I guess you should know—"
"You what?"
“I don't like breakfast food. Maybe half a bagel, but bacon and eggs are gross."
"What about sausage?"
"Groady."
"There is no logic in this place."
She shrugged and swallowed the last of the warm dough, "That's not really the point right now. Even if I don't like bacon—"
"Which is probably a crime in several states—"
"It doesn't help us figure out what exactly we're doing here. What's your plan?"
“I made a few lists." He pulled a pile of folded papers from a side pocket on his shorts and spread them out on the table, trying to force out the creases in the paper with his powerful fingers.
"These look like—"
"Itineraries, yes. I thought we'd have a few things to do for the wedding still. I need more details, location and whatnot, and then we can spend any extraneous time getting more familiar with each other."
His deep voice was as impassive as ever, but something in the phrase "getting to know each other" made her heart jolt with excitement...and not a little bit of fear.
"Do you mean, like, the way we did last night?" She wasn't sure what answer she wanted. It had been a simple thing, their kiss. Really, it was. They hadn’t crossed any lines. They hadn’t even kiss for very long. But something about it still ran through her mind whenever she looked at him, and she had trouble gazing at his chiseled features without also feeling the shadow of his light stubble on her cheek. It was so hard to hear him speak without imagining the feel of his soft, firm lips against her own. And how could he keep moving so gracefully across her room without forcing her to remember the way his pecs and biceps had pinned her down?
She couldn't.
It was a fact that had kept her up for half the night, and even she couldn't talk herself out of it. She was hot for her boss. And not just normal, school-girl-crush style stuff. She wanted him more than anyone she'd ever been near before, and the more she considered it, the more her raunchy fantasies seemed to be the ideal way of settling the score on how fantastically awful everything else in life had turned out.
So he was her boss. She could find another job.
So he was her friend. She had others.
All the mattered was that he was there, and he was hot, and he would be around her. Twenty four seven for the next fourteen days. Suddenly, her two AM ice cream raid didn't seem so shameful if there was someone else there who was willing to eat it off of her stomach.
Lost in her thoughts, she hardly noticed the deafening silence that greeted her question. No, as Garret chewed his food, she was more focused on what else his mouth could do rather than remembering what she'd asked him.
