With a sigh, Mia sent out an email that she’d be taking a sick day and headed home, putting off thoughts of Wyatt and what their night together meant for tomorrow.
The Deal
Mia
Mia was aboutto sit for dinner, or an extremely late breakfast considering she’d been asleep most of the day, when a knock on the door stopped her mid wine pouring.
She wasn’t expecting anyone but, every now and then, one of the neighbors would drop by asking for a cup of sugar or milk. Out of habit, Mia looked through the peephole, taking a step back and blinking at the periwinkle door before looking again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.
With her best frown plastered onto her face, she opened the door, greeted by a freshly shaven Wyatt casually leaning on the frame, his expression taking on a smugness that made Mia want to smack him as he scanned her head to toe.
“Good morning,” he greeted, his gaze still roaming her body with increasing heat.
“How do you know where I live?”
“Giles told me.”
“Why?” she asked, though, considering the way he was looking at her, she was quickly losing interest in why he was there and becoming more occupied with thoughts of what they could do once he was inside her flat.
“Because he can’t retain information for shit?” Wyatt shrugged, unbuttoning his trench coat while waltzing into Mia’s apartment uninvited, looking around as he made himself comfortable.
Mia closed the door behind him and locked it, for safety, she told herself, not to keep Wyatt inside. “No, Wyatt, why are you here?”
“Oh, are you avoiding me?” Mia could sense a tone of worry, suggesting the idea didn’t sit well with him. Something about that knowledge thrilled her. Both the idea that he’d spent the day bothered, and that he made an extra effort to come see her were equally exciting to Mia.
“No, I was very tired.” At her words, his all-too smug grin was back, and Mia huffed out a huge sigh, as if resigning herself to the fact he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. She wanted to seem as if the only reason she wasn’t protesting was that she couldn’t be bothered to argue with him right now. “Are you hungry? I made fish and chips.”
“Sure.” He followed her to the kitchen area, eyes soaking in everything as they crossed the living room, the open floor plan allowing him to take in the entire living space.
Mia threw a glance over her shoulder, amused at the almost child-like curiosity Wyatt was exhibiting. “Like what you see, Doctor Jenkins?”
Wyatt laughed, turning his gaze to her with a warm smile. “I do. It’s very homey and somehow very you.”
“I should hope, considering it is mine.” Mia pulled out an extra plate and poured Wyatt a glass of wine.
“Really?” She nodded, handing him his drink.
“My father left it to me when he died, I’ve been living here since I came to Oxford when I was seventeen.”
“Was your father British?” Wyatt asked, taking the glass of wine she offered and lifting it to his mouth, again skipping the basic etiquette of saluting. Mia decided enough was enough.
“No, and also…” she lifted her glass in his direction, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
“Jenkins don’t toast.”
“Why not?” Mia asked, still irritated, but now also curious.
“My mom is very accident prone, and after a glass of beer magically exploded in her hand when she toasted it and she had to get six stitches, it’s been sort of a big no-no in our house.”
Part of her was surprised at how easily Wyatt was sharing personal information about his family, especially with her. It wasn’t as if they were two friends chatting, they were rivals who happened to engage in one night of epic sex. Of course, people like Wyatt Jenkins would easily talk about their family, they were the epitome of normal, the benchmark to which all other families strived.
Despite the somewhat bitter thought,Mia was startled to find that she wanted to hear more. “So, you don’t toast because your mother is a klutz?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” He laughed again, lightly clinking his glass against hers. “There. I wouldn’t want to offend your culture.”
“And no one ended up in the hospital!” Mia took a sip, hiding a smile that was fighting to emerge. This was new, talking to Wyatt like a person without constantly being defensive. Or wanting to stab him.
“Yet,” he said with a ridiculously sexy smile. Setting his wine on the table Wyatt gestured at the oven. “Shall we eat?”