Corrupting Chastity - Krista Wolf Page 0,43
only goosebumps. They erupted unbidden over every surface of my body, despite the heat.
“Is that something you’d be interested in?” Senan asked.
My heart was hammering out of my chest! I was absolutely sure he could feel it, pressed up against his.
“I…”
“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Senan told me. “Sleep on it. The decision is entirely yours, but I wanted you to know I’m okay with it.”
A hand touched my chin, gently tilting my face upward.
“And not just okay with it,” Senan said, his eyes gleaming. “I’m excited by it, too.”
Thirty-Four
CHASTITY
“Eggs?”
Ander’s voice was way too cheerful for this early in the morning. It wasn’t even six o’clock. I’d barely slept four hours.
Yet when I’d woken up, Senan was already gone.
“Umm… sure.”
I hadn’t expected him to slip quietly out of his own bed, but that’s exactly what happened. I found the sheets still warm. The shower dry, as I washed the exhaustion from my sleep-gummed eyes.
“I’ve got bacon coming too,” Ander nodded, pointing to the oven. He looked deliciously casual in a pair of cutoff sweat shorts and a way too-tight T-shirt. “If you could just grab us some plates—”
I turned toward the cabinets, just as Brett appeared in the doorway. He wore a similar outfit, plus a pair of ragged jogging sneakers. He was also out of breath, and covered head to toe in sweat.
“Whoa!” he gasped, his look of surprise quickly turning into a grin. “When’d you get here?”
“Last night,” I replied. “Around midnight.”
“Ah.”
“Senan had a sleepover,” Ander chuckled.
“Didn’t get much sleeping done though,” I groaned, opening cabinets. I found a stack of paper plates on the third try and stopped myself. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”
“Uh huh,” smirked Ander.
“No, seriously,” I said. “We talked for hours, then fell asleep. When I woke up he was—”
“Gone, yeah,” said Brett. “He had an early shift.”
My eyebrows came together. “Shift?”
“At the warehouse.”
“He works at a warehouse?” I asked in surprise.
“Of course,” said Brett. “Just about every day.”
Ander took the stack of paper plates from my frozen hand. He separated three of them and began dividing up the eggs. While he did that, Brett poured three cups of coffee. He pushed one my way and I shook my head.
“What? Milk and sugar’s over there.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
He and Ander looked at each other like I’d just grown a third arm.
“What the hell do you mean you don’t drink coff—”
“Got any tea?”
Ander sighed dramatically, then reached into some faded metal canister. After rooting around for a bit he tossed me a wrinkled, naked teabag.
“She’s a self-employed college professor with a double major and a masters degree,” Brett chuckled, “and somehow she’s accomplished all of this without coffee.” He turned his smile on me, still sweating from his run. “What are you a genie or something?”
“Or something,” I grinned back. “You sure this teabag is still good?”
“Did you check the expiration date?”
“Funny.”
“Give it a squeeze then,” said Ander. “If it doesn’t disintegrate, it’s probably good.”
I glanced down at the teabag again, wholly disappointed. For a moment I actually considered coffee, but it was a brief moment.
“Nuke me some hot water?”
Ander pointed again, this time with a crispy piece of bacon. “Microwave’s over there.”
It should’ve been strange, going to bed with a guy and waking up with his two roommates instead. But oddly enough it felt weirdly natural. Totally casual, as if the three of us were having breakfast for the hundredth time instead of the first.
I nuked some tea and found the sugar where Brett had indicated earlier. I didn’t even dare ask for lemon.
“So…” I inquired, trying to pry a little without being too nosy. “What does Senan do at this warehouse?”
“Packaging and shipping mostly,” said Ander. “Sometimes they let him deliver for a route here and there, but only when they’re short-staffed.”
“Or when they’re absolutely desperate,” Brett laughed. “Because Senan can’t drive for shit.”
I sipped my tea, which was every bit as stale as it looked. The eggs were overcooked also, but I couldn’t complain. I preferred that to runny.
“When does he… um…”
God, I can’t believe you’re even asking this!
“Do the other thing?” asked Brett.
“Yeah.”
“Mostly on the weekends,” Ander said through a mouthful of bacon. “Sometimes on the weeknights, too, but that’s rare.”
“Ah.”
“He hasn’t lately though,” Ander continued. “Come to think of it, neither have I.”
An image came to mind: Senan and Ander’s profiles, side by side, splashed across the screen of my laptop. And me, reaching for a coin.
“So the site’s been slow I guess?” I tried forcing