Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men #9)(42)

My eyebrows lifted. “Have you considered throwing it away and buying a new one?”

Colton’s gaze sprang to me before he blinked as if I’d suggested he throw out a lung instead. “It was a gift,” he finally answered, still staring with that insulted, scandalized gawk.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Who kept around an empty bottle of breath spray because it’d been a gift?

Probably someone really sentimental.

Realizing he was sentimental only chipped away at that wall I was trying to keep up between us. Dammit, I should not like this guy.

But then he went and stood up—the jerk—and holy God on Sunday. I swear, angels started singing and playing trumpets and harps and shit. I mean, f*ck. His hair was perfectly messy. His chest was perfectly bare and gleaming. And his jeans, they slid down dangerously, riding perfectly low on his hips so that the waistband of his Jockey shorts showed.

I couldn’t help but remember what his cock had looked like when I’d ripped down his tuxedo pants and pulled his hard, throbbing member into my hand. I think my * freaking wept with joy, thinking she’d get to feel that inside her.

And then I’d ruined everything.

Clearing my throat, I folded my arms over my chest to hide my hard nipples. “Yeah, I think we can get you something to drink.”

Turning on my heel, I scurried toward the kitchen only to hear him fall into step behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, knowing he was following me. Was he watching me walk, focusing on my ass, remembering what it had felt like in his hands when he’d picked me up and set me on that table?

“Ooh, coffee.” Surging past me, he darted straight to the pot that had been set to automatically start brewing five minutes earlier.

Right. So he had not been checking out my ass. I was fine with that.

With maybe a side of completely devastated.

I mean, seriously, coffee was not supposed to trump my ass. What the hell was wrong with my ass that he didn’t even rate it a single glance?

Moaning dramatically, Colton paused next to the brewing pot and closed his eyes as he inhaled.

My girly parts liked the way he appreciated coffee. And yet my emotions were still crushed over the way he hadn’t checked me out. So I had to scowl to counterbalance. Tightening my arms over my chest, I sniffed. “I thought you said you wanted OJ.”

“That was before I knew there was coffee.” He opened a cabinet, frowning, and shut it, only to open another.

“What the hell are you looking for?” I demanded. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him going through my cabinets. It seemed so personal as if he were browsing through my underwear drawer. Actually, I was probably just upset because he didn’t seem to want anything to do with my underwear drawer. The jerk.

“A mug. To hold my coffee.” He arched me a dry glance. “Unless you don’t mind me drinking straight from the pot.”

I ground my teeth. “Try the doors directly above the coffee machine.”

He did. “Ah. Practical.” Taking down my favorite to-go mug, he poured himself a liberal amount, making me worry there might not be any left for me once he was done. Then he glanced around before spotting the sugar bowl. He helped himself to two cubes before blowing on the surface and taking a tentative sip.

I might possibly have focused a bit too intently on his mouth while he did all that. But damn, the boy knew how to make drinking coffee look completely f*cking sensual.

Then he had to go and close his eyes and hum out his delight as he tipped his head back to show off the way his throat worked through that first swallow.

And I suddenly needed to go change my panties.

I opened my mouth to say…I don’t even know. But I wanted to say something—anything—so he’d transfer all that delight my way.

Tyla, however, interrupted the moment, bouncing into the kitchen and looking eager and curious.

“Hey, who was the half-naked white guy passed out on our couch last night?” she blurted, only to slam to a halt, her eyes widening to the size of saucers when she saw Colton leaning against the kitchen cabinets and sipping his coffee.

He waved congenially. “Same half-naked white guy stealing your coffee this morning.” His gaze skimmed over her, and I wasn’t sure if I liked watching him check out another woman, especially one of my roommates. “Nice PJs,” he murmured appreciatively.

Tyla slapped her hands over the Marvel boy shorts she was wearing. They were really only her underwear and not actual shorts, so I guessed the warning glare she shot in my direction was for me to keep my mouth shut and not broadcast that to him. At least she was wearing a white camisole with them, which was more than she sometimes wore around the apartment in the mornings.

“Colton Gamble,” he said, introducing himself as he pushed away from the counter to step forward and lift his hand for a shake. “And you are…?”

“Colton Gamble?” she repeated dumbly, turning her attention sharply to me.

“Hey.” He grinned out his surprise. “We have the same name. Cool.”

She blinked, discombobulated by his strange wit first thing in the morning. Gaping at him another second, she returned her attention to me. “Who the f*ck is Colton Gamble?”

“Ah,” he murmured with a knowing nod, not letting me answer. “I see you must’ve heard about the great and mighty Brandt Gamble. He would be my older brother.”