Transpire by Monica Cole

Author:Monica Cole [Cole, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I wake up with a nasty hangover and a full recollection of the night before. I was hoping last night had been nothing more than a dream, but the moment I rolled over and found myself tangled up in Canyon’s designer sheets, I knew the drunken fiasco of last night was in fact reality. To be honest, I’m not sure what happened between us or if it’s anything worth being worried about. We drank. We laughed. And that moment in the hall…We could’ve kissed but we didn’t. So why does it feel like everything went so wrong?

My head is throbbing painfully as I slip out of bed and stumble down the hall in search of the bathroom. I cringe when I catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair is matted to my face, my eyes wide and underlined with bruise-like circles. While I use the bathroom, I eye the shower longingly, imagining the miracles hot water could do for my sore body. To hell with it. I strip out of my shorts and t-shirt and flip on the hot water, making sure its scalding before I step in. By the time I’m finished I feel like a new person, which is good because I wasn’t too happy with the person I was before I stepped into the shower. I towel dry my hair and slip back into my clothes then head to the kitchen.

Canyon is standing at the stove, his back turned to me. He’s not wearing a shirt. Just a pair of sweats and his hair looks kind of damp, like he showered not long ago. I sit at one of the bar stools, noticing he has his earphones in, his head bobbing slightly to the music. The last thing I should be doing is staring at him. The way his muscles tighten as he bends down to check something in the oven. I keep watching him, surprised that he hasn’t noticed me, but he seems distracted by his music and whatever he just pulled from the oven. It smells amazing. Like cinnamon and sugar. He shuts the oven door and turns around.

He jumps when he sees me and practically throws the pan on the stove. He rips the earphones out, looking ticked off. “You scared the hell out of me.” He tears an oven mitt off his hand and picks up a spatula.

“Sorry,” I mumble. He serves two cinnamon rolls on a plate and slides it across the counter to me.

After he pours me some coffee, he joins me at the bar, his shirtless body too close for comfort. I lean as far away as possible and sip my coffee, wishing I’d left when I had the chance.

“How did you sleep?” His question comes when we’re basically through with breakfast, and I’m finishing the last of my coffee.

“I slept okay but I’m a little sore.” I say, spinning the mug in my hands. “The shower helped a lot though. I hope you don’t mind.”

He glances over, eyeing my wet hair.

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