Southern Secrets (Southern #7) - Natasha Madison Page 0,18

like that."

"Good," he says. "I’ll call you tomorrow to set up a time and place."

"Sounds good," I say and disconnect.

I need to grab my shit and leave, my head screams to me. I can’t stay here. It’s not right.

I close my eyes and put my head back. The phone in my hand vibrates, and when I look down, I see a text from Amelia.

Amelia: Got you a burger. It’s in the microwave. Good night.

"This is not good." I make my way over to her house even though I know I shouldn’t.

Chapter 8

Amelia

The smell of bacon makes me open one eye, and I think I’m dreaming. I’m on my side in the middle of my bed with four pillows all around me and the cover up to my eyes. I turn and slip my hand out of the hot cocoon, grabbing my phone and seeing it’s only six o’clock.

I groan and put my hands back under the cover and close my eyes. Why does it smell like bacon? I look over at my closed door and smell coffee. What the hell is going on right now? Is my mother here? My head is asking me all these questions, and I know I’m not going to fall back asleep and get those extra forty-five minutes.

Throwing the cover off me, I get up and see the sun is starting to come up. I walk into the kitchen, and I have to close one eye when I see all the lights on. Asher’s naked back is to me as he stands in front of the stove. "What the hell are you doing?" I ask, standing in the hallway that leads to the kitchen from my bedroom. "It’s six o’clock."

He looks over his shoulder, and I wish he really wouldn’t. His face has that sleepiness still on it, and his hair is sticking up in certain places, and his smirk just makes my stomach sink. This is not good. I should never have told him to come home with me. I mean, I didn’t really tell him to come with me. I told him he could use my guest bedroom, so there is a difference there. "I’m making you breakfast," he says, grabbing a cup of coffee from beside him on the counter and bringing it to his mouth. "The coffee is ready."

"Why?" It’s the only thing that can come to my mind, and he turns around and leans against the counter. I see his six-pack is on point, and I wonder what it would be like to be held by him. I picture it so clearly in my head, his arms around mine as I look up at him. It’s a picture I quickly erase before I give it a second thought. "Why are you cooking me breakfast at the ass crack of dawn?"

He chuckles. "I’m going to say you aren’t a morning person." His smirk irritates me. Not because I don’t like it but because I like it too fucking much.

"I’m a morning person,” I lie to him. I have never been a morning person in my whole life. You can only talk to me after at least one cup of coffee, and one must ease into it. It’s why Quinn makes me start at eight instead of seven. I fold my arms over my chest. "I just don’t get the whole cooking at six o’clock thing." My feet move on their own as I walk into the kitchen and see the bacon cooking in the cast-iron pan. "Like the sun isn’t even up completely yet." I grab a coffee cup and walk over to the pot, pouring myself a cup. I bring it to my nose and smell it. "Nothing like the smell of coffee in the morning," I say, taking a sip of the hot coffee.

"You drink it black?" he asks, grabbing the fork and flipping the bacon over.

"Yeah, I ran out of milk one day, and well, it just stuck," I say. "Besides, that means I never have to be disappointed." I take another sip.

"How do you like your eggs?" he asks, and I look at him.

"Cooked." I laugh at my own joke, and he fake laughs, walking to my fridge and taking out the eggs. The way he does it makes it seem as if he’s been doing this for a long time. I don’t know why this bothers me so much. The last thing I want is to expect him to do it for me. Did that once