Page 53 of Sexting My Ex's Dad

“Are you offering your expertise?” he asks, feigning offense. “Or do you just want to save the rest of the pancakes from my culinary skills?”

“Maybe a little bit of both,” I admit, joining him at the stove. As I take the spatula from his hand, our fingers briefly brush against each other, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Show me, then,” he says, his voice low and inviting.

“Alright,” I reply, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body as I stand beside him. “First, let’s turn down the heat a bit. We don’t want to incinerate them.”

“Fair point,” he concedes, watching intently as I adjust the temperature.

“Next, let’s make sure the batter is mixed well.” I stir the concoction in the bowl, adding a little more milk to achieve the right consistency. Elio observes every move, his piercing blue eyes never leaving my hands.

“See?” I tease, pouring a ladleful of batter onto the pan. “Not so hard, is it?”

“Maybe not for you,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on me as I expertly flip the pancake.

The warmth of Elio’s body envelopes me as his arms encircle my waist, and I can’t help but lean back into him. He lowers his head, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re right,” he whispers, “you make it look so easy.”

“Maybe you just need the right teacher,” I tease, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Or maybe,” he says, turning me around to face him, “I just need a better incentive.” His lips crash onto mine, stealing my breath away. The world around us fades into oblivion as I lose myself in the intensity of his kiss, all thoughts of pancakes forgotten.

When we finally break apart, I’m left gasping for air and struggling to regain my bearings. “Elio,” I breathe, my fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants.

“I should spend the night more often.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“No.” He knits his eyebrows together, lost in thought. “This is the first time I’ve slept over at a woman’s house.” He looks a bit shocked by the revelation - as if he’s just noticing himself.

So, I’m special? “You’re kidding?”

“I like my home.”

I scrape the pancakes off of the skillet…they look worse than his. “These are inedible, and I don’t have much else. How about I just treat you to breakfast?”

His brow quirks as he studies my face. “And by ‘treat,’ I assume you’re using your newfound wealth?”

“Yeah, some billionaire bully gave it to me and wouldn’t take it back. I figured I may as well use it.”

“I bet that billionaire bully is hot as hell.”

I shrug. “He likes to think so.”

“Haveyou ever tried that new French bistro on Belmont?” Elio inquires, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the sunlight, as we walk side by side, trying to figure out where to catch breakfast.

Who would have known gray hair could be so sexy?

I shake my head. “No, but I’ve heard it’s quite fancy.”

“Would you like to give it a try? They have excellent croissants,” he suggests.

I hesitate, feeling a familiar discomfort rise within me. Fancy restaurants always make me feel out of place, like I’m intruding on a world where I don’t belong, probably because until now, I’ve never actually been able to afford them. “I think those places charge more money than they’re worth.”

He raises an eyebrow at me in amusement. “You think so, huh? What do you want then?”

It doesn’t take me long to think about it. “There’s this little diner around the corner that I’ve been wanting to try. It’s nothing extravagant, but I’ve heard they serve a mean omelet.”

“I’m not a huge ‘egg’ person, but I’m sure I can figure something else out.”