Four Day Fling(2)

I opened my mouth, but my cheeks burned hot before I could say anything.

Hottie McTottie chuckled. “Sorry. I thought you might shoot me down, and I’m trying to get you to speak.” He paused, his dark-blue eyes glancing over my shirt. “Or do you need coffee to make your mouth work?”

“What?”

“There she is.” He grinned. “Your shirt. It says you run on coffee, chaos, and cuss words. I imagine you’ve got a few cuss words running through your head right now, and this is definitely a little chaos.” He stood up, tossing the sheets aside…and giving me one hell of a look at his bare ass.

And his cock.

I blinked and looked away, blushing again. Why was I surprised? I’d been naked when I’d woken up. It stood to reason that he’d be naked, too.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his deep voice barely able to conceal his restrained laughter. “I put on my boxers.”

“Yes. Well.” I cleared my throat. “Um…”

“Sweatpants are on. Come on.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and directed me toward the door. “I’ll make coffee, and then you might be able to string together a sentence.”

His idea had merit. Not gonna lie.

He guided me down the stairs, hands still on my shoulders, and steered me toward the kitchen. It was large and bright, with white cupboards and big-ass glass doors that let in the sunlight from the early morning sun.

I looked out at the backyard. It was…so male. He had a decent-sized pool just off the deck that housed an impressive barbecue area, and I was pretty sure I could see the corner of a hot tub on the other side.

“How do you take your coffee?” he asked, reaching up to the top cupboard. His back muscles flexed as he pulled down two mugs. “Cream? Sugar? Black? Or are you a latte or cappuccino girl?”

“Jesus, do you have your own personal Starbucks in here?”

“No.” He looked over his shoulder with another grin. “But it made you talk.”

I pursed my lips. “Cream, one sugar. Please.”

“You got it, Red.”

“Red? What kind of a name is that?”

“The kind I give to a redhead whose name I can’t remember,” he said simply, hitting the start button on his impressively big coffee machine.

Oh, thank God. It wasn’t just me.

What? Those happy hour cocktails had been strong.

I knew he’d told me his name outside of Hottie McTottie. I think it started with…an E? No. He had an A-name. It was definitely an A.

“Judging by the look on your face, it’s mutual.” He slid a full cup of coffee across the kitchen island. “You can sit down, Red. I’m not going to kick you out.”

“My name is Poppy,” I said, perching on one of the black stools. “And I totally remember your name.”

“All right. What’s my name?”

I hesitated. “Aaron.”

He shook his head, laughing. “Adam.”

“What?”

“Adam. My name is Adam.” He paused. “And, as pretty as Poppy is, I’ll stick to Red.”

“Why?”

“Because poppies are red, so it makes sense.”

“Wow. How hungover are you?”

“Hungover enough that I’m glad I don’t have to work,” he replied, hitting the button on the machine for the second time. He turned and looked at me, then said over the sound of the machine, “So. Care to tell me why you were staring at me while I slept?”

No.

Absolutely not.

“I wasn’t staring at you. Not intentionally. I was…thinking.” That was lame, Poppy. So lame.

“Thinking. I can’t say that’s something girls usually do in my bedroom.” He grabbed his coffee and put it on the island, leaning against the opposite side. His biceps tensed as he rested his forearms on the black marble countertop, and I flicked my attention to the veins running down his forearms.

Why did I want to lick them?

Was it the hangover?

I needed this coffee.

“Do you have many girls in your bedroom?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not particularly. That made me sound a lot more of a man whore than I am.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but I think you’re lying.”

“Why?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Adam dropped his head and laughed. “On a daily basis,” he said, meeting my eyes again. “What does that have to do with anything?”

I wiggled my finger at him. “I’m not falling for that. I’m just saying that you look like the kind of guy who thrusts his way through life, one woman at a time.”

“That seems awfully judgey for a girl who can’t cope without coffee.”

I snorted. “If you think this shirt is bad, you should see the rest of them.”

“You have a collection?”

“Some people collect, I don’t know, jigsaw puzzles. I collect snarky t-shirts.” I shrugged a shoulder.

“I honestly don’t know anyone who collects jigsaw puzzles.”

“It was a figure of speech.”

“That was the best you could come up with?”

“You know,” I said slowly. “I liked you a whole lot more when your face was between my legs.”