“Do… that.” I do a figure eight with my finger in front of him. “Look all sexy before I’ve even had coffee.”
“But I can look sexy after I’ve plied you with coffee? Good to know.” He smacks me on the ass and walks away chuckling when I let out a little growl.
“You’re the worst!”
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart!” he hollers back.
I follow him to the kitchen where he has a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me on the counter. “Creamer? Milk? Sugar?”
“Creamer if you have it but I can just drink it black, too. Don’t go to any trouble.”
“Wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t.” Right. Duh. He pulls out two different kinds of creamer, a French vanilla and hazelnut, and places them in front of me. “Help yourself. Sorry if you don’t like those flavors.”
I choose the hazelnut and pour a little into my coffee before stirring it with the spoon he hands over and take a fortifying sip. “This is great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Want some eggs, too?”
“Don’t go to any trouble.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that now. It’s not trouble, Sierra. Especially if I’m offering something. Besides, like I said, we’re stuck here today anyway. What else are we going to do to fill our time?” He’s looking at me suggestively over the rim of his own cup.
“What else indeed,” I murmur and slide onto a bar stool.
“How do you like your eggs?”
“I don’t care. Whatever is fine with me.”
“After we eat, would you like to shower? I obviously don’t have clean underwear for you to wear but you can wear some of my boxers while we wash yours.”
I blush at the thought of wearing more of his clothes but shrug my indifference. “That’s fine. I can always wait until I go home, too. If the snow lets up, I’m sure Toby and I can manage to walk back home.”
“Walk.”
“Right. Well, I wouldn’t want you to have to drive in this weather. That’s a lot of tro…”
He grunts, interrupting me. “Trouble. Right.”
“Right. It is! It’s a pain in the ass.”
“And if you can’t walk home? What would you like to do today?”
I shrug again. “Whatever. I’m kind of in your way here so if you had plans, I don’t want to be the one who stops you from doing them.”
He looks at me for a long beat before leaning his butt against the counter, hands resting on it, too. Jack sighs heavily and scrubs a hand down his face. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be compliant.”
“I’m not.”
He sighs again and drops his head, his chin resting against his chest while his shoulders move up and down. Then he walks a few steps and leans over the counter so he’s facing me, his hands just inches from mine. “Sierra, listen to me. If you want something, ask for it. I’m not a troll and I won’t get upset if you want scrambled eggs and I was planning to make fried. If you need to shower, that’s fine. I’m not an idiot, Sierra, and believe me, I can read between the lines better than anyone. I’ve had years of experience with it that I’ll explain to you another time. But I don’t like to see you just letting someone else make the decisions. That’s not who I am. I’m your buddy, remember? And buddies are there for each other. So tell me… what kind of eggs would you like?”
I blow out a breath and look away. “I’m not doing that.”
“You are. And we’re going to get to the bottom of it eventually. Even your dog realized that you weren’t the one making the decisions.”
“Rude.”
“Truthful. There’s a difference. Now, let me ask one more time. What kind of eggs are you in the mood for? I can do omelets, scrambled, fried, poached, boiled.”
“Rambling again?” I tease.
His head gives a shake and a lock of hair falls out of place. I want to push it away so it doesn’t cover his face. But he does it for me, his muscles flexing as he raises a hand and slides his fingers through his chocolate brown hair to push it back. The move shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. Just about everything he does turns me on, it seems. “Simply giving you options. So you can make a choice. A choice that you want.”
We stare at each other, him daring me to argue with him but I can’t. He barely knows me but yet, he knows me. Somehow.
“What do you have to go in the omelets?”
“Atta, girl.” He taps the counter twice with the palm of his hand and stands straight, moving to the fridge and pulling out ingredients. “Mushrooms, green pepper, onion, a few different kinds of cheese, asparagus, spinach, tomatoes, ham.”
“Maybe it would be easier if you told me what you don’t have,” I joke.
“My other meals might be boring as fuck, but I like options for breakfast. And always plenty of veggies, too.”
“Of course. Can’t forget those.”
“Never. So what’ll it be?”
“Can I help? I love to chop stuff.”
“Sous chef Sierra. Has a nice ring to it.”
He pulls ingredients out of the fridge then retrieves a couple of knives and sets them on the large wooden cutting board that I imagine doesn’t get moved often. Pulls out two small sauté pans and places them on the gas burners.
“I’ve never cooked on a gas stove before.”
“Really? You won’t want to go back, trust me.”
Strange thing is, I do trust him. With more than just cooking breakfast together. I trust that what he was saying earlier was the truth. That he cares about what I want, not just someone who will agree with everything he says.
“Looking forward to you changing my world and having to buy a new appliance, then.”
He chuckles. “There’s my smart ass girl.”
His smart ass girl.
I shouldn’t like that, but I do. A little too much. Dammit.
I also like the way the two of us work side by side standing at the counter and chopping vegetables and whisking eggs, eating bacon and drinking coffee.
He starts sautéing the vegetables, jerking his wrist to move the pan.
“You’ve done that a time or two,” I acknowledge.
“Yes, I have. Dad’s a chef, remember?”
“Oh, I remember your dad. I can’t imagine anyone not remembering meeting him.”
Jack pulls a disgusted face. “Gross.”
I smile, liking that I irritated him a little bit.
“I mean, he’s definitely a silver fox.”
He pours the eggs into the pans.
“I bet he would be a great wingman. Though, I bet that he would provide a lot of competition for you. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but your dad is like… super hot. I saw little hints of tattoos and totally wouldn’t mind seeing more of those.”
He curls a lip at me when I waggle my eyebrows. “Okay, enough of that.”
He finishes up our omelets and plates them, sliding my plate in front of me.
I hold my hair back as I lean over. “Oh my gosh, this smells so good. I’m starving.” And then I make embarrassing noises while I shovel eggs into my mouth as if I haven’t eaten in years.
“Now see, aren’t you glad you chose what you wanted to eat? I hate to imagine you’d miss this meal you are so clearly enjoying.”
“No one likes a know-it-all, Jack,” I mumble around a mouthful of delicious eggs. Seriously. What in the heck did he do to these things? I have never had such an amazing omelet in my life. I can’t stop eating. Did he put some sort of drugs in these? “Seriously, this is too good. I cannot even stop. So. Good.”
I look up to see Jack’s just watching me rather than enjoying his own incredible meal. “What’s wrong? You aren’t hungry?”
He shakes his head with tight lips like he’s trying not to laugh. “No, no. Just waiting to see if you’re going to dive into mine as well. Don’t want to lose a finger.”
“I can’t help it. I tend to be hungry after
I drink too much alcohol.”
“Really? I would have never guessed.”
“No one likes a smart ass, Jack.”
“I’m a know-it-all smart ass. I sound like a treat.”
I polish off the last of my omelet and my eyes land on his. I walk my fingers across the counter to Jack’s plate but he pulls it away and starts eating. “Suddenly I’m really hungry.”
I narrow one eye. “Share?”
He uses the side of his fork to cut off a large section then forks it into his mouth, moaning with his eyes closed. “I don’t think I can. It’s just too good.”
“Jerk.”
He winks then pushes the rest of his omelet over to me. If I had an ounce of self-respect, I would have at least waited to dive in. However…
I polish it off.
No regrets.
Maybe the rest of the day I’ll practice that whole no regrets thing as well.
CHAPTER NINE
JACK
“I think I need to do some jumping jacks.”
She can jump on this Jack all she wants…
“Why is that?”
“Because I ate my weight in omelets and bacon since you kept forcing your food on me.” She groans while holding her stomach, stretched out on my couch with Toby by her feet.
“Oh, it’s my fault you’re feeling like a stuffed pig, huh?”
She lifts her head and glares at me. “What a lovely compliment.”
“You’re welcome.”
She groans again and I chuckle.
“I’m serious, Jack. I need to do something active. I may or may not have eaten a little too much and I need to burn it off.”
Well, that’s not helping my current state of mind. Lots of activities that I can think of to burn off our breakfast.
“I just feel… blah, you know? Like my stomach is kind of revolting against me right now.” Sierra stands up, albeit quite slowly, and stretches her arms above her head.
Then…
A noise emits from her that I’m absolutely positive she didn’t want me to hear.
She freezes aside from covering her face.
I stare at her and try not to laugh.
But the effort is completely lost because she apparently wasn’t done. This time after the sound I’ll never forget, though, she squeals, holds her stomach then bolts for the bathroom.
As soon I hear the door slam shut I burst into full blown laughter.
“Not nice!” she shouts.
Minutes pass and I hear the toilet flush. Then flush again. And some more incredibly unpleasant noises.
I look around the room and slowly make my way toward the bathroom hallway. Farting is one thing (which, obviously, didn’t bother me because I’m a guy and farts happen) but whatever is going on in the bathroom right now is far beyond that.
“Sierra?”
“Mm hmm?”
“You okay in there?”
“Mm hmm!”
Something tells me she’s not being entirely truthful. Could be the fact that the second mm hmm was said in a high-pitch squeaky voice. Could be the fact that I just heard the unmistakable sounds of bodily fluids rapidly emitting from her butt.
“You sure?”
“Jack, the polite thing to do would be to leave me alone for a few minutes of private time.”
“Private time, huh? Is it because I still haven’t put on a shirt?” I can’t help but tease her.
“Jackson!”
I grin. “Ooh, full naming me, huh?”
“Kindly move away from the door.” She no doubt grits out, by the way it sounds.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Can I get you anything? More eggs?” I try not to laugh but it doesn’t work.
I think I hear her gag and then… uh oh. Vomit while…?
Maybe I pushed her too far. Now I feel bad.
“Is it… coming out both ends? Sierra?”
The toilet flushes and she groans. “Okay, do you know what it means to give someone privacy?”
“Right. Moving away from the door now. Just… holler if you need anything!”
“You won’t hear from me. Thank you.”
If only I wasn’t capable of hearing right now.
I take a seat on the chair again and turn up the volume on the TV, hoping to make her (and me) a little more comfortable. I finish watching a full episode of Schitt’s Creek and she still hasn’t emerged from whatever war zone she has entered into so I press pause and decide to risk her wrath and knock on the bathroom door lightly.
“Sierra? You okay?”
“I… not really?”
“What can I do?”
I’m a little afraid of what she’s going to ask of me. Especially when I hear her throw up again. Having had enough, though, I knock once more, announce that I’m coming in and slowly open the door.
The smell is impossible to miss. I mean, it was coming through the door but without the barrier it’s… unpleasant. I cover my nose and try not to make a disgusted sound.
Her tiny body is sitting on the toilet, head hanging into the trash can she’s holding.
“Oh, girl.” I move to her side and gingerly place a hand on her back.
She looks so sad and a little on the pathetic side — in a cute way, of course — when she looks up at me. Face a complete mess. Vomit and tears and snot smeared on her face. “I don’t feel so good.”
“You don’t say? I’m so sorry. Was it the eggs?”
She gags, body retching and hunching over as she throws up a little more but at this point it appears her stomach is mostly empty.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let’s not discuss food. No, it wasn’t the eggs or you’d be sick, too. I think… it’s a touch of the stomach flu.”
Given the fact that I feel perfectly fine, I’m inclined to believe her.
I grab a wash cloth out of the linen closet and run it under the faucet, careful with the water temperature so it’s lukewarm. Then I wring it out so it’s not dripping and crouch down in front of Sierra, wiping her face before folding it and repeating once more.
I rinse out the cloth and then lift her hair and place the wash cloth on the back of her neck. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
I nod. “You’re welcome.”
“I might be done.” She reaches behind her and flushes the toilet.
“I think I’ve just propelled past the buddy status, don’t you?”
She laughs then groans. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“No need to be.”
She gives me a look. “Really? Because I just flushed my poop but need to wipe because I do have my limitations. And I’m still holding my puke bucket.”
I shrug. “Honest. This stuff doesn’t bother me. You could wipe in front of me even.”
She gives me a disbelieving look and wrinkles her nose. “Never. That’s just… I can’t even imagine that.”
I assure her. “Promise. It’s not as if I’ve never had to wipe my own ass.”
“Oh my gosh, Jack. Do you have no filter?”
“Not really. Do you want to lie down in bed or maybe on the couch? I can lay a sheet on it if you’d like. That way you can watch TV.”
“Sure. Couch would be great if you don’t mind me being out there.”
“Not at all. I’ll just…” I take the trash can from her so I can dispose of it and replace the bag. “Let you finish up in here while I get an area ready for you.”
She nods again and I leave her be.
I hear the shower turn on and am glad she’s feeling well enough to do that but listen carefully in case she needs me. Once I hear the curtain slide, I figure she’s good on her own.
Quickly getting rid of the contents of the trash can, I pull a clean sheet out of the hall closet and lay it out on the couch along with a pillow from the room she slept in last night. Then I place the trash can on the floor just in case and pour a glass of water for her to sip on.
I grab a pair of my boxers and a different t-shirt and
knock lightly, letting her know I’m placing them inside and behave like a gentleman by turning my head so I don’t accidentally see anything. Not that there are many secrets between us anymore.
She comes out of the bathroom, hair wet and hanging down over my t-shirt. Face fresh and clean, she looks young and vulnerable.
Toby greets her and the two settle on the couch again.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She raises her eyebrows and I shake my head. “Sierra, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Or embarrassed about. We just know each other a little better now, is all.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it. Like ever again.”
“But it’s my fondest memory of you.”
She rolls her eyes and lays her head down on the pillow, curling her legs up. The hem of the t-shirt rides up and I have a view of her perfect thighs and curse myself for noticing when she’s sick. I’m a terrible person.
I grab her a blanket and drape it over her, grateful to have her covered up a little bit.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Need anything else?”
“I’m okay right now. Pretty sure I got rid of stuff I ate in the 90s.”
I wince. “Yeah. It sounded like it.”
As soon as I take a seat and pick up the remote, she speaks up again. “You cheated.”
“Huh?”
She points a finger at the TV where Schitt’s Creek is paused.
“Oh! I’ll go back. I wasn’t really paying attention anyway.”
I get the previous episode running and we settle in. It’s still snowing outside and I started a fire this morning creating a glow and warmth that if Sierra wasn’t currently feeling like death, it would almost be romantic. If I wasn’t just her buddy, that is.
We continue watching a few more episodes but my attention continues to be drawn to Sierra. She’s curled up on her side with Toby snoring at her feet. I like her here, sick or not. “You’re staring. Afraid I’m going to throw up in your living room?” Her eyes are on the TV while she talks to me, letting me know that I’m far from sneaky. “And you still haven’t put a shirt on.”
“Does it bother you?”
She scrunches her nose up. “Little.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like a jerk. It’s not that I didn’t put a shirt on because I wanted her to stare at me, though it’s been an added benefit. I just hadn’t really thought about it. I get hot easily and with the fire going, I was sweating. I move to stand but she stops me.
The Other Guy: A Textdoor Neighbor Romance Page 12
