He tried to clean up his dirty-as-fuck thoughts as he slid the steaming plate on the bar in front of her while she settled onto a stool.
When he set a bottle of water beside it, she glanced at him with something obviously on her mind. “Got anything harder?”
Zy hesitated. He didn’t want her medicating with booze…but he needed her to let go of her sense of decorum or responsibility or whatever the fuck kept her bottled up so she would talk to him.
“I’ll look. Eat at least half your omelet first.” Because if she was going to get shitfaced, he didn’t want her getting sick.
Dutifully, she picked up her fork and cut into the eggs, moaning as she popped a bite into her mouth. “Hmm. You didn’t tell me you could cook.”
“I don’t know if I’d call that actual cooking.” He prowled through the apartment’s walk-in pantry to peruse his booze selection. “Unless I’m barbecuing, that’s about the extent of my culinary expertise.”
She took another bite. “Then what do you eat in this sleek bachelor pad?”
“A lot of protein-based smoothies. Easier way to get in nutrients without dirtying up my kitchen.”
“You should teach me how to make them. I cook for myself a few times a week and eat the same meal for a few days.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s boring.”
Zy nodded, knowing full well that nothing coming out of her mouth resembled anything on her mind, but she was still in responsible mode, still trying to be a perfect non-burden.
He really hated that. She just needed to let go. He’d catch her.
With a sigh, he plucked up a bottle, grabbed a lime from his fridge and a shaker of salt from the cabinet above the stove. Then he withdrew a shot glass and poured. “You at least half done?”
She eyed the plate. “Pretty much. Tequila shots, huh?”
“It will be easy and work fast.”
“I’m game. Let’s do it.”
Zy shook his head. “I’m the responsible one tonight. You go for it.”
“You trying to get me drunk?”
“If life were just about you and me and we had nothing else to consider, would I really need to?”
“No,” she whispered.
He leaned in and looked her straight in the eye. “Good. But I’d never get you drunk for that. I’d want you sober so you could feel every single thing I’d do to your body.”
Tessa’s cheeks lit up fiery red. “Zy…”
“Drink up.”
Obviously, she’d done this before. She licked the back of her hand, poured the salt, knocked back the tequila, tongued the salt from her skin, then sucked the lime, eyes closed and moaning. “Pour me again.”
“When was the last time you drank?”
“Before I found out I was pregnant with Hallie.”
So this wouldn’t take long at all.
They repeated the cycle twice more before he stopped pouring and gauged her level of sobriety. Already he could see her body relaxing and the stress melting from her face as her head slid back, and she closed her eyes with a sigh.
“I know this is a bad idea, but I’m buzzed enough not to care.”
Then she was almost where he wanted her. “Good. One more.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” She socked the shot away with a moan.
“Done eating?”
Tessa nodded quietly and stood. “If it’s okay, I’m just going to stretch out on your sofa and—”
“What about Hallie?” He could hear her stirring in the next room. “Maybe we should talk in the bedroom.”
“You’re sure you’re not trying to get me drunk?” she asked, but this time her voice was sassy.
He liked it.
Grabbing her hand, he led her past the playpen and through the doorway, toward the rumpled bed, and sat her on the edge.
A little smile softened her face. “Thanks. I feel safe here.”
“Yeah?” He loved hearing that. “You are.”
“Your room smells like you. I like it.”
Jesus, if she was trying to turn him on with just her words, it was working.
But he had to put the brakes on the dirty workings of his brain, sit beside her, and pull her close. “Why don’t you get it all out now? Tell me what happened with your dad?”
“Ouch.” She reared back. “Are you trying to harsh my mellow?”
“I’m trying to get information.” He curled an arm around her, loving the hell out of the way she was pressed against him from shoulder to knee, her face turned toward him.
“I know.” She sighed, as if dredging up this story took monumental effort. “I got there on Monday, right? My first time meeting Kathleen. She took one look at me and told me I look like my mom. Then she said that she refused to have an unwed mother in her house.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Zy wished he had the opportunity to tell Kathleen what a judgmental cow she was.
“Oh, yeah. I pointed out it was my dad’s house, too. But since my dad wasn’t around, she put her foot down. Thankfully, before I had to plunk down the money for eleven days in a hotel, a childhood neighbor stopped by and offered me a place to stay. It was way better than dealing with Kathleen. She tried every which way to keep me from seeing my dad. He was too tired or too overwrought or too fill-in-the-blank. Whatever. I really thought on Tuesday that Dad had turned a corner, and I finally started going around the bitch and walking into his room whenever I wanted.”