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Instead, I put out water and food in the kitchen, then open the windows to let in fresh salty air while Mr. Skitters has his breakfast.
“Right. What are we going to make our woman for breakfast?” I ask him. “Waffles? Pancakes?”
Mr. Skitters flicks his tail and meows, then returns to his crunching.
“Let you in on a secret,” I say. “I did something I swore I would never do.”
I peek at the bedroom door and then open that cupboard under the sink again. I’ve got a brand new coffee machine in there in the box, and I reach for it and then cry out at the pain in my rib.
The bedroom door slams open.
“Jesse?” Marci hurries into the kitchen. “What are you?—?”
“Trying to get the damn coffee machine out and make you breakfast in bed. The rib has spoken. I’ve given in to its demands.”
Marci’s fingers brush her lips. Those lips. Oh God.
“You bought a coffee machine? But you hate?—”
“For you,” I say.
“I’ll get it,” she says and takes it out.
She’s still naked from last night, and I love that she’s comfortable enough to walk around in my kitchen with her tits and ass out. It’s a treat, and it makes me feel special.
Marci sets the coffee machine on the counter and places her fists on her hips.
“You shouldn’t have done this. I have coffee at the diner.”
“Yeah, but you like to drink coffee first thing like a heathen.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, I slap her naked ass.
“I can take it from here,” I say. “Let me make you coffee and breakfast. I like it.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I appreciate that so much, Jesse.”
Feels like I’m glowing from the inside out. It feels like… It feels like every picture I’ve taken on my own in my bedroom was a lie, and like the ones with her in them are the real thing.
Like my life before this was fake.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I am fucked.
I make the coffee and fix her pancakes with crispy bacon and maple syrup. Marci comes out with her hair damp, wearing a fluffy sweater and a pair of shorts. She plops down, smelling like heaven, and grins at me.
“This looks amazing,” she says.
“I hope it tastes as good.”
And then we hoover our food down. My phone blips on the counter, and I lift it. I haven’t answered any of the concerned texts or calls from my family yet, and I take a minute to shoot off a few now.
CASH
Are you all right, brother?
