Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Fifteen minutes later, Spencer was awake, clean, and dressed in his most comfortable jeans, softest T-shirt, and a pair of slipper socks he got at a math department holiday gift exchange. He padded down the hall and heard Emilio talking, the words becoming decipherable as he got closer to the kitchen.
“That’s what I did, Ma,” Emilio grumbled. He paused. “No, that was the last batch. This one has eggs.” Another pause. “I don’t know. It don’t look right.”
Spencer walked in and saw Emilio holding his phone to his ear with one hand and a dripping spoon with the other while he stared into a bowl. He was shirtless and shoeless, wearing just his briefs and looking better in them than any model.
“Uh, kind of runny but with chunks too,” Emilio said into the phone, and then he paused, furrowed his brow, and pursed his lips, looking ten different kinds of frustrated. “I did stir it, Ma!”
Spencer snorted out a laugh, the whole scene striking him as funny—a sexy man, barely dressed, whining to his mother while trying, and apparently failing, to cook something. As soon as Spencer made a sound, Emilio jerked his gaze away from the bowl and over to him.
“Shit!” Emilio said, followed shortly by, “Ma, I gotta go.” He paused for a second and then whispered, “He’s awake. I’ll call you later.” He moved the phone away from his ear, said, “Love you too,” in a rush, and then he hung up.
They stood, staring at each other for a couple of seconds, and then Emilio said, “Hey. How’d you sleep?”
At the exact moment, Spencer said, “What’re you trying to make?”
“Fuck.” Emilio dropped the spoon into the bowl, set the phone on the counter, and rubbed his palms over his eyes.
He looked so upset that Spencer hurried over to him and said, “What’s wrong?”
With a sigh, Emilio lowered his hands. “I suck. I wanted to make you breakfast in bed, so I called my mom for help, but even with her on the phone, I can’t seem to make pancakes.”
Nobody had ever made him breakfast in bed. Well, technically that was still true because Emilio was having some trouble in the kitchen, but he was trying, which was just as great as getting the meal. Spencer’s heart felt like it was swelling.
“I can make pancakes,” he said as he walked up to Emilio and circled his arms around his waist.
“I know. You can make everything.” Emilio cupped Spencer’s ass and kissed the top of his head. “You’re, like, a professional chef or something. But you had a bad night and I wanted to take care of you.”
“You did,” Spencer said.
“I meant this morning. I wanted to get your day off to a good start.”
Spencer blinked up at Emilio and caressed his cheek. “You did,” he assured him quietly.
They were pressed together, with Emilio wearing almost nothing, and though Spencer was feeling a little activity down south, it wasn’t anything to write home about.
As if he could read Spencer’s mind, Emilio said, “It’s okay. Let’s get some food in our bellies and then we’ll go back to bed and figure this out.”
“Okay.” Spencer leaned over, looked into the bowl, and scrunched his nose. “But you go sit down and let me do the cooking.”
“No!” Emilio said incredulously. “I want to make breakfast for you. Go back to bed and I’ll cook.”
“The things you described as chunky?” Spencer asked meaningfully as he looked up from the bowl.
“Yeah?” Emilio darted his gaze to the bowl and then back to Spencer.
“Those are eggshells.”
Emilio leaned over the counter and peered into the bowl. “They are?”
Spencer stood next to him and calmly said, “Uh-huh.”
“Is that why it’s orange?” Emilio asked as he stared at the concoction he’d created.
“No.” Spencer gulped. “I have no idea why it’s orange, and, frankly, I think it’s better that we don’t think about it too much.” He swiped the bowl off the counter, walked over to the sink, and poured the whole mess down the garbage disposal in a flourish. “There! I’ve disposed of the evidence,” he said.
Emilio chuckled. “Are you saying my cooking is a crime?”
“No. Absolutely not.” Spencer shook his head vigorously. “I definitely did not say that.”
“Uh-huh. I see how it is.” He stalked over to Spencer and crowded him until Spencer was leaning back against the sink. “We can go out to breakfast,” Emilio offered. “My treat.”
“Going out means getting dressed,” Spencer said as he dragged his gaze from Emilio’s face down his bare chest to his swollen groin.
“That a problem?” Emilio asked huskily as he planted his palms on the counter on either side of Spencer.
“Uh-huh.” Spencer perused that tight body again and licked his lips. “How about I make us some french toast?”
“But I thought pancakes were your favorite?”
“I think we could use a little pancake sabbatical.” Spencer glanced at the bowl in the sink and then looked up at Emilio. “Just until we get past the TPSD.”