Ready for You (Ready #3)(23)

Obviously, he’d learned to cook more than those two dishes. Someone had taught him how to cook, or he’d learned on his own. I didn’t want to think about someone doing all the things I was supposed to do with him.

“I never agreed to a dog,” I said with a touch of annoyance in my voice.

“No one ever gave you a choice. You moved into this house by yourself. You need some sort of protection.”

“I don’t want to adopt Cujo,” I huffed.

“I didn’t say you had to adopt a snarling, man-eating dog. But you need one that will be attentive and bark if it senses an intruder.”

“And a security alarm won’t do that?” I challenged.

“I like dogs better,” he answered plainly.

“Then, why don’t you have one?”

“My place is too small, and I’m a guy.” He shrugged.

He’d never really mentioned his place, but considering how quickly he’d gotten over here the other night, I was assuming he lived close. How close, I didn’t know. The thought of him being just streets away at night sent my heart into double-time.

Garrett threw some bread in the toaster and continued to mix the eggs. He grabbed a handful of cheese and sprinkled it on top before turning off the burner. He glanced over at me, and his eyes lingered on my legs tucked neatly beneath me. My shorts were mostly covered by my sweatshirt, so it looked like I was bare underneath it. From the way his eyes heated, I didn’t think he’d actually taken the time to look at me until now.

“Is that my sweatshirt?”

I looked down and immediately blushed. “No, it’s my sweatshirt.”

“You mean, it’s a sweatshirt you stole and never gave back,” he corrected.

It was one of the few things I had taken with me when I left home. I had been leaving the life we planned, but I’d still wanted some pieces of him. So, I’d granted myself pictures, my necklace, and this sweatshirt. I hadn’t deserved more than that. I wore it all the time, and I’d completely forgotten I had it on when he came rushing in.

I needed to change the subject. “So, are we going to talk about last night?” I suddenly took a great interest in my fingernails. I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I stared at the chip in my purple nail polish while waiting for an answer.

“Nope,” was all he said as he dumped the eggs equally on two plates.

After he buttered the toast, he brought everything over to the table and chose the seat across from me. The food he dropped in front of me smelled delicious, and my stomach growled in response.

“Okay.”

I didn’t really know where to take the conversation from there, so I chose silence—awkward, long silence. It seemed to be the thing we excelled at nowadays. We used to spend hours, days talking, and now, we could barely speak a sentence without digging ourselves into a hole.

“Look,” he finally said with a huff, “I got jealous. It was a dick move. It won’t happen again. I want to be your friend, Mia, or at least I’m trying to be.”

He was being nice. What he really meant to say was, I’m trying to be your friend despite everything you did to me.

I finished my eggs and took a final bite of my toast. “Friends?” I asked.

“Friends,” he confirmed. “And friends do things like take friends to choose a furry companion. So, go upstairs and get ready. I want to be there when they open.”

It was the first time I’d seen him smile. It was a forced smile, but it was still something. I nodded and rose with my plate in hand. I rinsed it off and placed everything in the dishwasher. I could feel his eyes on me as he finished eating. Without saying another word, I finished up in the kitchen and raced up the stairs to my room and shut the door, locking it behind me.

How could I be friends with him? How could I be around him and not want him? I’d just agreed to a terrible idea. Friends? What the hell was I thinking?

I can’t be just friends with the man who owns the other half of my soul.

I was so screwed.

~Garrett~

The ancient pipes rattled, and I heard the shower kick on. I tried my best not to imagine Mia stripping down in the bathroom above me, that old sweatshirt of mine falling to the floor, before she stepped into the warm stream of water with the dewy drops of liquid cascading down every curvy inch of her sun-kissed skin.

Yep, I tried.

It didn’t work.

Finished eating, I got up from my seat at the table and began scrubbing the few dishes left out with a bit more vigor than necessary. When I’d just about taken all of my frustrations and probably some of the glaze right off of the plate, I put down the sponge and placed everything in the dishwasher, making sure to delay it an hour. I was pretty sure I was the only one in the house who needed a cold shower.

With nothing to do but wait, I paced. I walked through her living room and down the hall to her empty office. Nothing but unopened boxes filled the room. She’d barely unpacked. She had probably been too involved in remodeling the house.

Why was I here? Why did I wake up at the crack of dawn and drive myself over here, only to torture myself further? This was supposed to be our dream, our future. But it wasn’t. She had chosen to end that dream and leave. Did I need a constant reminder of that?

I heard the shower shut off, and I wandered back into the living room, sinking into the sofa. It smelled like her. She smelled exactly as I remembered—like fresh oranges in summer. It was some sort of lotion she used, and it drove me crazy. I had smelled it on her last night as I leaned in to kiss her.