Crushing on my Billionaire Best Friend - Jolie Day Page 0,14
if it were in a way he would never feel for me in return.
Still, the irony of the situation, along with the photos of us hanging on his fridge, it was easy to get swept away in a long-held fantasy for a moment. I’d spent countless hours—especially as a teenager—swooning on my bed (yes, I actually swooned), staring at the ceiling and imagining a life with Oliver. There in his kitchen while I cooked us breakfast, I could almost imagine it had finally come true. It was certainly a better alternative to my reality of being homeless, with almost zero possessions—and permanently stuck in the friend zone.
I propped my phone up on the back of the countertop and put on some music. After cracking all the eggs and simmering the butter, I found it easy to drift deeper into my fantasy. I lost myself in this La-la-land where I was Oliver’s girlfriend making him breakfast. It got me dancing around the kitchen while I cooked, and that soon turned into singing along to the music, using kitchen utensils or bottles of seasoning as my microphone—whichever happened to be in my hand at the moment.
I was right in the middle of a rather dramatic lip-synch performance of Aretha Franklin’s, You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman, when the photo strip of Oliver and me hanging on the fridge caught my eye. Wrapped up in the moment, I slid the photo from under the magnet and started dancing around the kitchen counter, holding it between my fingers, shaking my hips and butt. My lip-synch performance turned into an all-out belting solo.
With the photo in one hand and a big pan of scrambled eggs in the other, I sang and danced (I even twerked!) my way between the stove and counter when, suddenly, a series of loud claps from the corner of the room turned my little private concert into a loud, shrill scream. So much for sleeping like a rock.
My hand instinctively jerked back, sending a waterfall of eggs cascading around the room with pathetic little splats. Shit! They littered the floor and counters all around me. I’d closed my eyes from the scare, but I finally opened them to see Oliver standing there with a huge grin splitting his face. I cringed from embarrassment. Little bits of egg plopped onto the top of my head, catching in the curls of my hair as they slithered down.
If that isn’t damn sexy, I don’t know what is.
I’d been busted. Dancing. In Oliver’s kitchen. Singing. In Oliver’s kitchen. While cooking. And I just threw food all over the place.
God, just let the floor open up and swallow me whole. Now.
I wasn’t sure if anyone could actually die of embarrassment, but I was certain if it were possible, I’d be close. Like, really freaking close. Shitshitshit.
“Oh, hey…I didn’t…I didn’t know you would be up so early,” I murmured awkwardly, feeling my cheeks turning blazing hot and red. I did a double take between him and the photos of us still between my fingers, quickly stuffing it around my back, into the waistband of my (his) shorts. I’d tried to play it cool and failed—miserably.
He clapped a bit more, just to emphasize my humiliation. “I didn’t know I’d be waking up to a private show in my kitchen.”
I wanted to say something—some kind of smartass comeback to save myself, but I was quickly distracted by Oliver’s tan, chiseled chest—completely bare and exposed. Oh…my…God. My gaze drifted along the muscles of his impressive body, down to the oh-so-sexy V-trail that led to his tight-fitting boxers, complete with the hint of a—quite impressive—morning bulge just above his perfect thighs and calves.
My mouth went dry.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped, quickly averting my gaze for a moment. Peering around, I abruptly covered my eyes with my hand, but I snuck a peek through my fingers. Hell, who could blame me?
I caught the expression of realization registering on Oliver’s face, but his reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. His grin widened, and he winked. “Gotta take care of that.” He rocked on the balls of his feet. “Be right back.” Oliver turned and strolled toward his bedroom with a chuckle.
My mouth fell open. Did he—? No. I’d been gawking at his morning wood and he just let me, then walked away? What had he been thinking? What was that supposed to mean? Crap! I didn’t have time to think about any of it right now.