and pulling out a carton of eggs.
“Kind of,” she admitted. “You did interrupt my lunch.”
He nodded. “French toast?” He was already breaking eggs into a bowl, just assuming that she was going to want French toast, so Kenley decided to mess with him a little bit.
“Depends,” she said.
“On what?” He paused, but then kept cracking eggs.
“Are you going to make guy French toast?”
“Guy French toast?”
“Yeah,” she said, swinging around in her stool to get a better look at what he was doing. “Guy French toast is where you grab some white bread, dunk it in a few eggs, then burn it because you forgot to grease the pan.”
He turned around and looked at her. “This will not,” he said, sounding insulted.
“be guy French toast.”
“Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll have some.” He grinned at her, and she was struck again at how absolutely gorgeous he was. Curly dark hair, a perfect smile, dark brown eyes. There was no word to describe him other than smoldering. “So your mom doesn’t mind that you’re just using her house? What if she comes home?” She glanced behind her, toward the front door, half expecting his mom to come waltzing in. That would be totally awkward. What would she say she was doing here? How would Chad explain it?
Unless, of course, he brought women here all the time. The thought disappointed her, and she took another sip of her drink.
“She won’t be coming home,” Chad said. His back was to her as he added vanilla to the eggs in the bowl in front of him. “She doesn’t live here.”
Kenley frowned. “But I thought you said this was her house.”
“It is her house. But she doesn’t live here.”
She shook her head. “That makes no sense.”
He turned around, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “I bought this house for my mom when I signed my first major league deal. But she didn’t want it.”
“Are you kidding?” Kenley asked. “Why wouldn’t she want it?”
“Because.” Chad shrugged. “My mom left when I was seven, and she was never really around. I bought the house because she always wanted to live near the beach, and I figured she’d want it. Siesta Key supposedly has the best beaches in the whole country.”
He was trying to sound like it was no big deal, but Kenley could see the hurt in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugged again. She nodded, not knowing what to say.
She looked around. The house was meticulously clean and the refrigerator was obviously well stocked. Chad must have been paying someone to stock the fridge, to clean the house and keep it up. The cleaning made sense. The house would fall into disrepair without any kind of upkeep. But keeping the refrigerator stocked could only mean one thing – he was hoping his mom would someday decide to take him up on his offer of living here.
She felt a lump in her throat, thinking about the rejection he must have been feeling. “So why did you bring me here?” she asked.
“I told you, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah, but we could have talked anywhere. Back at the hotel, anywhere.”
He grinned then, all traces of sadness about his mom gone. He crossed the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast bar across from her, turning her stool toward him so that their knees were touching. It was the same move he’d used last night at the hotel, and her body was filled with longing, wanting to go back to that moment. “I wanted to impress you,” he said, “Give you the star treatment.”
He was teasing her, she could tell. God, he was hot. And his lips were right there, just inches from hers now. It was all she could do to keep herself from kissing him. She tried to turn her chair back around, but just like last night, he held her legs, not letting her move. He touched her chin, pulling it, tilting it toward his.
“Bullshit,” she said, and pulled away from him. “You wanted me on your turf, somewhere where you were comfortable.”
“Kind of,” she admitted. “You did interrupt my lunch.”
He nodded. “French toast?” He was already breaking eggs into a bowl, just assuming that she was going to want French toast, so Kenley decided to mess with him a little bit.
“Depends,” she said.
“On what?” He paused, but then kept cracking eggs.
“Are you going to make guy French toast?”
“Guy French toast?”
“Yeah,” she said, swinging around in her stool to get a better look at what he was doing. “Guy French toast is where you grab some white bread, dunk it in a few eggs, then burn it because you forgot to grease the pan.”
He turned around and looked at her. “This will not,” he said, sounding insulted.
“be guy French toast.”
“Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll have some.” He grinned at her, and she was struck again at how absolutely gorgeous he was. Curly dark hair, a perfect smile, dark brown eyes. There was no word to describe him other than smoldering. “So your mom doesn’t mind that you’re just using her house? What if she comes home?” She glanced behind her, toward the front door, half expecting his mom to come waltzing in. That would be totally awkward. What would she say she was doing here? How would Chad explain it?
Unless, of course, he brought women here all the time. The thought disappointed her, and she took another sip of her drink.
“She won’t be coming home,” Chad said. His back was to her as he added vanilla to the eggs in the bowl in front of him. “She doesn’t live here.”
Kenley frowned. “But I thought you said this was her house.”
“It is her house. But she doesn’t live here.”
She shook her head. “That makes no sense.”
He turned around, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “I bought this house for my mom when I signed my first major league deal. But she didn’t want it.”
“Are you kidding?” Kenley asked. “Why wouldn’t she want it?”
“Because.” Chad shrugged. “My mom left when I was seven, and she was never really around. I bought the house because she always wanted to live near the beach, and I figured she’d want it. Siesta Key supposedly has the best beaches in the whole country.”
He was trying to sound like it was no big deal, but Kenley could see the hurt in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugged again. She nodded, not knowing what to say.
She looked around. The house was meticulously clean and the refrigerator was obviously well stocked. Chad must have been paying someone to stock the fridge, to clean the house and keep it up. The cleaning made sense. The house would fall into disrepair without any kind of upkeep. But keeping the refrigerator stocked could only mean one thing – he was hoping his mom would someday decide to take him up on his offer of living here.
She felt a lump in her throat, thinking about the rejection he must have been feeling. “So why did you bring me here?” she asked.
“I told you, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah, but we could have talked anywhere. Back at the hotel, anywhere.”
He grinned then, all traces of sadness about his mom gone. He crossed the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast bar across from her, turning her stool toward him so that their knees were touching. It was the same move he’d used last night at the hotel, and her body was filled with longing, wanting to go back to that moment. “I wanted to impress you,” he said, “Give you the star treatment.”
He was teasing her, she could tell. God, he was hot. And his lips were right there, just inches from hers now. It was all she could do to keep herself from kissing him. She tried to turn her chair back around, but just like last night, he held her legs, not letting her move. He touched her chin, pulling it, tilting it toward his.
“Bullshit,” she said, and pulled away from him. “You wanted me on your turf, somewhere where you were comfortable.”
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