“I made breakfast for a woman. And a woman I wasn’t even sleeping with, no less. Not yet, anyway. I’d be the laughing stock of the club if anyone found out about this. Not that they would, of course. Claire knew not to say anything. And I’d never tell. I made eggs, and then, in a really, truly inspired move, I dug around in my pantry and found a box of pancake mix and an unopened bottle of maple syrup. So, we had eggs and pancakes. Not too fucking shabby, if I do say so m...yself. “Hey, sleepyhead,” I murmured, nudging Claire’s pale, sweaty face. Back in my bedroom, she had had a fitful night, tossing and turning in bed as she struggled to find somewhere to get comfortable in spite of her new tattoos—what were, essentially, open wounds. Her eyes fluttered open and then she held up a hand to try and shield her face from the sun.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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