Page 6

After I took a quick shower, we spent the night cuddled on his bed watching old episodes of Chopped and ordering multiple rounds of room service.

Between my old fashioned haze and only having a bar of hotel soap to work with, I didn’t have much hope for my curls or my makeup when I eventually drifted off to sleep beside him, but I also didn’t have it in me to care.

It was honestly one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.

Maybe ever.

Which is why the bright Colorado sun peeking through the curtains is such an unwelcome sight.

I crack one eye open and take a quick inventory of how I’m feeling.

No headache and I’m not queasy. Excellent!

A testament to the power of greasy hotel burgers and top-shelf alcohol.

It’s not until I scan a little lower that evidence of the night before makes itself very apparent.

My thighs are sore and the ache between them is so delicious it makes me yearn for another round.

It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a while, and now I can’t imagine going without it for a day, let alone another year.

“You’re up,” a deep voice says from the corner of the room, and the butterflies I felt the night before return with a vengeance. “I ordered some breakfast if you’re hungry.”

Great sex, late night snacks, and breakfast? Maybe the perfect man does exist!

He’s sitting in the desk chair, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his thick, overgrown hair still damp from the shower he must’ve snuck in while I was sleeping.

Even after a late night of drinking and countless orgasms, his green eyes shine bright and clear, with not a bag or circle beneath them.

I don’t need a mirror to know I do not look nearly as good.

I pull the sheets up to my chest, now acutely aware of my naked body and bed head in the light of day. “Oh, um…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to stay.” The words come rushing out of his mouth, and if I didn’t know better, I might think this god of a man is nervous I might leave.

“But at least have some coffee. I ordered too much and I don’t have self-control when it comes to caffeine.

A professional hazard, really. So if you don’t have some, I’ll drink it all and then I’ll spend the rest of the day talking.

It’s very dangerous. For me. Not you. My caffeine consumption won’t put you in danger. ”

Oh my god?

He’s rambling! Because of me!

“I’d love some coffee!” I don’t mean to shout, but I like to even the playing field, and he can’t be the only one in the room with zero chill. “And I wouldn’t say no to breakfast meat in any form.”

“Breakfast meat?” He arches an eyebrow, and I can tell he’s biting back a smile.

“Breakfast meat,” I repeat. “Bacon, sausage, ham, Canadian bacon. You know, any meat that you can find on the average Denny’s menu.”

“Out of all of the great brunch spots in Denver, your go-to reference is Denny’s?”

And he knows great brunch spots? That’s it. Not even Disney could create a better man.

“It’s called longevity.” I sit up and take the thin sheet with me, wrapping it around my chest like I so expertly learned during all of the toga parties I attended in college.

“When any of these new age, fancy brunch spots last as long as Denny’s, then we can talk.

Until then, give me a Moons Over My Hammy any day of the week. ”

“What are you? A lawyer?” he asks, and I realize that during our brief conversation and long night together, we didn’t dive much into the details of our lives. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a passionate defense for a chain restaurant.”

“Don’t even get me started on Red Robin,” I warn him. I might joke about a lot of things, but bottomless steak fries and Mountain High Mudd Pie are not included. “And no, not a lawyer, but something close.”

I walk over to the newest room service tray and lift up the metal lids to inspect the booty. Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and breakfast potatoes. Did I put a spell on him last night? Is he in love with me already? I nab a piece of bacon while I mull over this new possibility.

“Something close, huh?” He pushes away from the desk, and I just now realize his computer is open and he’s been working while I’ve been sleeping soundly—and hopefully not snoring—in his bed. “Don’t tell me you’re a cop.”

A very unladylike snort shoots out of my mouth at the same time I take a bite of the very crisp bacon.

“No!” I choke out the word. The thought of me with a weapon should terrify the masses. “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

His smile changes from the sexy smirk I’ve gotten used to into something else. Something more open, more joyous. And an expression crosses his face that I see so often in my line of work that I can pinpoint the emotion the moment it appears: pride.

“I have a daughter.” He tells me what I already knew he was going to say. “She’s actually going to be in kindergarten this year.”

I bite my tongue to prevent myself from asking the barrage of slightly inappropriate follow-up questions I have.

I just met the man, for goodness’ sake! I can’t ask where his kid is going to school and how often he works on sight words with her.

Creep much? So instead, I decide to go with my normal “kindergarten is the best” spiel—while also checking his left hand to make sure I didn’t miss something important before I agreed to spend the night with a stranger.

“She’s going to love it.” I tell him something I’m sure he already knows.

“I really believe that kindergarten is the foundation for a child’s educational career.

I know some people think it’s silly and unnecessary, that we just play games and horse around, but it’s where I get to show them firsthand how much fun learning can be. I love it.”

I’ll never thrive financially, but I think I have the best job in the world, and in the end, it balances the scales.

Well…spiritually, definitely not literally.

“She’s really excited. It’s all she’s been talking about all summer long.

I promised her we’d go shopping this week so she can pick out her backpack and lunch box.

” He grabs two coffee mugs and starts pouring from the carafe sitting beside the trays of food.

“She’s into llamas right now? So we’ll see how that goes. ”

I don’t want him to be hotter, but now that I’m picturing this big, strong man shopping for a llama backpack, he’s getting hotter!

Plus, I’m also really into llamas right now and I’m not sure I’m mentally stable enough to know that I have things in common with the daughter of the man I just had the best sex of my life with.

Those lines will get blurry real fast and then I’m the girl scaring away all of her dates in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days . We can’t have that.

So I do what any rational, emotionally intelligent human would do.

I change the subject.

“You know what I do…” I walk over to his computer and gesture at the now darkened screen. “It’s time for you to return the favor.”

He hands me a full mug of coffee before gesturing to the cream and sugar packets and takes his seat back in front of his computer.

“My job isn’t nearly as fun or idyllic as a kindergarten teacher.” He winks, and I fight the urge to tell him about the amount of bodily fluids I deal with on a weekly basis during the school year. “But I love it and I’m pretty proud of the work I do.”

“Impressive lead-up.” I take a sip of my black coffee, and my body starts to wake up now that it’s being fueled by its life source. “Can I try guessing before you tell me?”

I’m actually really good at reading people. It’s one of the perks of being a violently codependent people pleaser. I’ll take “reasons to work with five-year-olds” for five hundred, Alex!

He nods in response, and I take a minute to consider everything I already know about him.

He’s got a great body, but not from being in the gym all the time.

So definitely not a trainer. He knows good brunch spots, but told me in a way where he wasn’t trying to prove that he knows all the cool spots.

So definitely not a finance bro or lawyer.

He woke up early and was doing work on a computer, so he can work remotely and it’s probably something he does often since he got straight to it in a hotel room with a strange woman in his bed.

And his hands are way too smooth and gentle to do anything outdoorsy or with heavy lifting.

“Okay,” I say after I’ve narrowed down my options.

“You travel with your laptop which points to you maybe being a workaholic, but I get the feeling that you’re just really passionate about what you do.

If I had to guess, you’re either an entrepreneur focused on building your own company, you work at a nonprofit with a mission you deeply connect to, or final guess, you’re a writer.

I can’t put my finger on what kind of writer, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that you’re a mystery writer. ”

“Why mystery?”

“Mainly because I’ve watched way too many crime documentaries, and I would love to bounce all of my theories off of someone who wouldn’t look at me like I grew an extra head.

But also, I love mystery books, and it would be cool to know someone who writes them.

” And doesn’t just have a notebook full of ideas that they’ll never actually write like me.

“Second to mystery would be fantasy, but if you tell me you’re the kind of guy who only reads serious literature , I will walk out of the door without a second thought. ”