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I start the coffee. Open the windows. Give myself something to do with my hands. Which is maybe not the best thing, becauselasttime I did something with my hands it was to jerk off to the sound of the girl in the next room pleasuring herself.

The mug’s halfway to my lips when I hear her behind me. Her footsteps are quiet, but I’ve been listening for them.

“Morning.”

I turn and nearly burn my tongue on the coffee. She’s in one of Jonah’s shirts, big enough to hang past mid-thigh, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair’s still sleep-mussed, and her eyes look tired.

God, she is so fucking beautiful.

“Morning,” I manage.

She nods, barely making eye contact, and pours herself a cup. She doesn’t add anything, just holds the mug with both hands and keeps her eyes on the counter.

Well, this isn’t awkward at all.

My brain kicks into overdrive. Does she know? Does she know that I know what she did? Oh, God.

Maybe she heard me. I was quiet, though, right? I mean, I heard her, so it’s notunbelievablethat she heard me right back. Shit. Is this the part where she tells me I’m disgusting and she never wants to speak to me again?

I shift my weight and force a swallow past the dry lump in my throat.

Say something. Anything. Offer her eggs. Comment on the weather. Ask her how she slept.

Before I can say anything, she glances up and says, “Thank you.”

“For the coffee?” I ask, though I already know what she’s talking about.

She shakes her head and offers a shy smile. “For...everything yesterday.”

I nod. I don’t know the right thing to say, so I just stay quiet.

She leans against the far side of the counter. The fabric of the shirt pulls at her shoulder when she shifts, exposing a sliver of skin. Her blush is already rising, blooming across her cheeks, the longer we stand here. I try not to notice. Try not to let it get to me.

But I fail miserably.

Don’t think about last night. Don’t you dare.

I clear my throat. “Did you...find something you liked?”

She freezes.

Her eyes snap to mine. The pink on her cheeks deepens into something darker, spreading toward her neck. She swallows, then nods once, the movement jerky.

“One of them…” she starts. “But some of them were…intimidating. I don’t...” She trails off, the rest of the sentence lost in the steam from her mug.

I chuckle, trying to ease the tension. “Yeah, I might have gone overboard.”

She laughs softly, the sound helping me to relax.

That should be the end of it. Pat yourself on the back because clearly you did a good thing, and move on.

But I’m not that noble. Clearly.

The words come to my mind, but I don’t say them. I grip my mug tighter, like maybe that’ll keep them in. I tell myself to shut up. Let it go.I will bite my tongue off before I say these words.

Walk away. Make a joke. I should do anything but what I’m about to do.

But by the time I realize I’ve lost the battle, the words are already falling out of my mouth.