Running into Love
Page 14

“Levi?” I call into his apartment, not seeing anything but a large black-and-white photo of Mets’ stadium hanging behind his black leather couch. A low, shiny coffee table sits in front of the couch on top of a fluffy gray rug that I would love to have for myself.
“Come on in, baby.” What the hell is going on, and why does he keep calling me baby? Walking through the door, I frown as I watch him set a large bowl full of water on the ground in the kitchen for Muffin, who looks like she’s been at his place every day of her life. “Are eggs and toast good with you?” he asks, and I look to where he’s standing in front of his open fridge.
“Eggs . . .”
“If not, I got a few bagels.”
“Bagels?”
“Babe, are you here with me?” Am I? I don’t even know what’s happening here. “Do you want eggs and toast or a bagel for breakfast?”
“Eggs are good,” I finally get out, and he nods, pulls out a dozen eggs, and sets them on the counter before looking at me once more with his lips twitching.
“Can you shut the door for me?” Feeling awkwardly for the door behind me, I swing it closed, then walk toward the kitchen, not sure what to do with myself. Looking around his place, I notice it’s the complete opposite of mine. Where I have bright colors everywhere, all of his stuff is different shades of blacks mixed with grays and white. His bar stools are chrome with black leather tops; the canisters and things on the counters are all black, including his coffeemaker and toaster. His place is definitely a guy’s place.
Taking a few more steps toward the kitchen, I set Muffin’s leash down on top of the island, then watch him pull out a pan and start up the stove. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled, if that’s okay.”
“You want ham and cheese in them?”
“Sure.” I nod, watching him in confused silence as he starts to crack enough eggs to feed an army.
“You mind making the toast?”
“Okay.” I slide off my jacket, setting it on one of his bar stools, which leaves me in a formfitting long-sleeved top. Going around to the inside of the kitchen, I take the loaf of bread he hands me and put four slices in his toaster while he rips up pieces of ham and cheese, adding them to the bowl with the eggs.
“Would you like coffee?” he asks, dumping the bowl of egg mixture into the pan.
“Yeah, thanks.” I give him a small smile as he pulls down two cups and hands them to me. “Coffee’s there. Milk’s in the fridge. Sugar’s in the tall black thing.” He nods to the counter and sets down both cups. I fill them both, then go to the fridge; when I open it, I notice there’s not even one fast food container, which is also the complete opposite of mine.
“Would you like some?” I hold up the half gallon of milk after dumping a few drops in my coffee.
“Nah, I take my coffee black.” Of course he does—he’s obviously a man’s man, so no way would he put something in coffee to take out the bite that’s supposed to put hair on your chest. “What’s funny?”
“Hmm?” I turn and set his cup of black coffee next to the stove.
“You were smiling.”
“I was?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know,” I lie, picking up my cup and taking a sip of delicious warm coffee.
“Hmm.” He shakes his head, then goes back to flipping and turning the eggs over in the pan.
“Is butter in the fridge?” I ask when the toast pops up, and he looks at me over his shoulder.
“Yep, and plates are above the sink. Knives in the drawer next to it.”
“Cool,” I mutter, then go about getting plates and buttering the toast. Once I’m done, he pulls the pan off the hot stove and scoops out some eggs for himself and me, then pulls down another plate and dumps the rest of the pan onto it. I don’t know what I expect, but when he sets the plate on the ground for Muffin, I’m dumbfounded and tongue-tied.
“Come, eat before it gets cold,” he urges, ushering me around to one of the bar stools and pulling it out for me to sit.
“You just made my dog breakfast,” I blurt once I’m seated, and he chuckles.
“I made you breakfast. I just made enough for her to get some, too,” he mutters, setting a plate in front of me.
“It’s no wonder she’s in love with you,” I grumble as he heads back into the kitchen to get his own plate.
“She just knows a good thing when she sees it,” he says. I watch his mouth move and would swear he adds, unlike her oblivious owner. But I can’t be sure, and no way will I ask him.
Coming back a second later, he takes a seat next to me and digs into his food, so I do the same. “This is really good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Sitting there next to him, I shovel food in my mouth to avoid talking. I don’t need to embarrass myself any more than I have today, and I don’t want to accidentally blurt out the thousands of questions currently pinging around in my skull. I keep reminding myself that he’s just a nice guy and a nice neighbor who wants to be my friend.
Finishing off as much food as I can, I take a sip of coffee and use it as an excuse to study Levi over the rim of my mug. He’s as gorgeous as always, maybe even more so with the little bit of morning scruff shadowing his jaw, accentuating his full lips and strong profile. My hand actually itches to reach out and touch him. To see for myself what the stubble would feel like against my fingers and how smooth his lips would be against my skin. Feeling my cheeks heat in embarrassment when he looks over at me, I duck my head and set my coffee cup down. “I should go get ready for work.” I stand, gather up my plate and cup, and take them both to the sink, where I wash them quickly. “Thanks for breakfast. Next time it’s my treat,” I say, putting everything in the dish drainer without looking at him.
“Fawn.”
“Hmm?” I pick up Muffin’s leash and look to where she is sprawled out on the floor, asleep. “Up, girl, it’s time to go,” I tell her, and she opens one eye, then closes it. Seriously, not this again . . .
“Fawn.”
“Yeah?” I bend over and lift Muffin off the ground with my arms around her middle, then huff when she falls back to her belly after I have her on her feet. “Stubborn dog.”
“Fawn.” Oh god, the sound of his deep voice behind me and the feel of his large hand sliding around my hip to my stomach and his groin pressing into my ass cause a flood of heat to spread between my legs.
I don’t even think about what I’m doing. One second I’m feeling his very large, very evident erection poking me in the ass, and the next I’m spinning around to face him, up on my tiptoes, pressing my mouth to his.
“Christ,” he breathes against my lips before nipping the bottom one. On my gasp his tongue slides between my parted lips, and the taste of him and coffee exploding across my taste buds makes me moan. Feeling his hands roam up the back of my shirt across my skin, I press deeper into him, needing more, wanting more. I cling to him with all my strength while his hand cups the back of my skull and he takes over the kiss and my mind. Sliding my own hands around his back and up under his shirt, I press deeper into him and whimper down his throat. Getting lost in his mouth against mine, I allow him to lead me across the room. As the couch bumps the backs of my legs, my nails dig into his back.
“Fuck.” He stops suddenly, pulling away, leaving me off balance and completely mortified.
“I . . .” I press my fingers to my tingling lips while my chest heaves in sync with his. “I gotta go.” I bolt for the door, and by some act of god Muffin follows me out of his apartment and across the hall.
“Fawn . . . stop,” he shouts as I make it to my door. Before he can say more or make it across the hall to me, I get inside, slam the door, and bolt it with the lock. I’ve messed up. I’ve messed up big-time, and now I need to find a new place to live. “Fawn . . . we need to talk,” he shouts through the door with a pound of his fist, and I close my eyes.
“It’s okay, no talking necessary . . . I’ll see you around,” I shout back, then shake my head to myself, burying my face in my hands. I don’t know what came over me—I’ve never been aggressive before, but it’s like I couldn’t help myself.