Screwmates(21)

The next morning, I propped my head up with my elbow and stared at Marc as he slept. Such a gorgeous sleeper. He looked less studious and fancy when he was out cold, more boyish; even with the scruff he’d been letting grow since school got out. It was like his whole face softened somehow, became almost boyish. His eyelashes were long and hit his cheeks so delicately. I wanted to reach out and touch them.

Okay, I did reach out and touch them. Which might have sort of been the thing that woke him up. I realized my mistake immediately.

I pulled my hand back like maybe he wouldn’t notice, but it was too late.

He blinked. Then sort of yelped. “Jesus! I did it again!”

It took half a second to register what he’d thought he’d done again. “No!” I exclaimed quickly. So he didn’t notice my eyelash-caress after all. “No, I just slipped in.” Unfortunately.

After we’d agreed to help each other learn wine and sex—excuse me, seduction—we’d decided that we’d both do better with a good night’s sleep before discussing it any further.

My night’s sleep had been fair enough, I guess, good might have been a stretch, though. I tossed and turned a bit, imagining, well. Imagining this—waking up beside Marc. Just with more kissing and less surprise. More eyelashes and fewer questions.

But that counted as a good night, even if it was a little light on the sleep. And now here I was, sprawled out on top of his comforter, ready to discuss. “So?”

“So…what?” he asked through a yawn.

“How do we start? When do we start?” I might have been just a little bit eager. If he kept stretching like he was we might not need to discuss anything at all. He slept shirtless, and his perfectly sculpted upper body was pretty much all the seduction I needed.

Unf.

If we didn’t get this sorted soon, I’d have to work some more alone time into my schedule. And considering I spent like twelve hours a day alone already, things were about to get completely ridiculous.

Marc rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and glanced at his alarm clock. It was already seven-thirty. He’d always been up by this time when school was in session. He didn’t need to act like it was especially early, but there he went with all the eye rubs. Stretch. Blink-blink like he didn’t know what was happening. He knew full well what was happening.

Still, it felt like he was a bit annoyed when he said, “First rule of seduction: no seduction before coffee.”

“No problem. I’ll go make some.” I leaped up, stopping at the door to ask, “How do you take it?”

He sat up to answer me. “Vanilla creamer until it’s a light tan color, not beige, but also not totally ecru, and two spoonfuls of sugar.”

I wasn’t sure, for the first moment, if I was impressed or horrified that he knew exactly where on the brown-scale ecru fell. But that wasn’t the point, I realized. I coughed. He ignored me. I coughed again, more pointedly.

“Uh, Marc?” I waited until I had his full attention before I went on. “Second rule of seduction: don’t admit to a woman that you drink your coffee like it’s dessert.”

He replied with something about how mocking someone’s personal preference was closed-minded, but I was already down the hall by then so I didn’t bother correcting him. He’d had too many last words already. It was my time to shine.

While the coffee brewed, I decided to make a quick breakfast. I was antsy anyway, and it seemed like a good use of my energy. Eggs were easy enough to whip up, and I found some bread without mold on it. It wasn’t much, but it was a meal. Some days, on my budget, it could be considered an actual feast.

Apparently neither Marc nor I were very invested in kitchenware, because I couldn’t find any serving trays even after a thorough search. Thinking creatively, as I do, I grabbed one of my large sketchbooks, and a couple of minutes later it was loaded up with two paper towels, two mugs of coffee and two plates of scrambled eggs and cheesy toast. I threw on a couple of sugar packets as the finishing touch.

Not bad, I told myself. Not bad at all.

Marc’s bed was empty when I walked in with our food, but I could hear the shower running. It turned off almost as soon as I put the tray down on the nightstand, so I knew he’d be out, gently scented, shortly. While I waited, I got comfortable on his bed, a plate of food in one hand, a mug in the other, my nightshirt bunched gently and thoughtfully to the top of my thighs. It just looked casual though, I knew cause I had taken a phone pic of myself and verified.

The bathroom door opened a few minutes later and steam poured into the room. When Marc stepped out, dripping wet, with only a towel tied low on his hips, I nearly dropped my drink. As hot as he was normally, it somehow was magnified when hot water was added. Literally double hot. The only thing stopping me from jumping him was the stupid rule about no seduction before coffee.

Note to self: revise the no seduction before coffee rule.

Marc dried his perfectly curly hair with a hand towel as he scanned up my bare legs and then landed on the plate of food sitting on my lap. I wasn’t super jealous that his curls behaved with such a minimum of work but I also wasn’t not jealous. Felt the same about the food on my lap getting his stare.

“You made breakfast?” He sounded surprised. “Why, Madison, are you trying to seduce me?”

Yes. So much yes. “Is it working?”