17. Maybe I Like the Ladies

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OKAY DON'T YELL AT ME I KNOW IT HAS BEEN THREE MONTHS BUT I HAVE BEEN BUSY AND HAVE NO COMPUTER SO CUT ME A BREAK. BUT I HAVE UPDATED SINCE I'M HOME SICK AS HELL.

Waking up, I smiled and snuggled closer to the handsome man attached to my backside. He groaned and then he was up too, kissing my hair, his breath tickling my ear.

                “Good morning,” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and husky with emotion.

                “Good morning,” I whispered back.

                A rush of cold air hit me full force as Justin rolled over to stretch his limbs and then get out of the bed. I watched him with my eyes, carefully. He headed for his dresser and put on a pair of pajama pants, covering up his briefs. Ruffling his hair with his free hand, he picked up his phone from the dresser and checked his messages before turning to glance at me.

                “You want some breakfast?”

                “You cook?” My lips twitched up into a smile.

                Laughing, Justin took his hand from his hair. “Oh, since I’m a man I’m not allowed to be able to make something simple like eggs and bacon with a side of pancakes?”

                “Technically it would be pancakes with a side of eggs and bacon. Also, lots of men are chefs. There may even be more male chefs than female ones if you want to get more technical. But it’s just you seem too… Justin-y to be able to cook.” I smiled.

                Narrowing his eyes, Justin stalked towards me. “And what does it mean to be Justin-y?”

                I shrugged. “Unable to cook, obviously.”

                “You’re such a smartass, Kasey.” He lifted my face up by my chin and stared into my eyes, melting every internal organ in my body until I was a quivering mess. “But I’ll continue to be Justin-y if it allows me to have you unable to function when I’m near you.” He released me and headed out his bedroom. “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’m not a chef but I’ll do my best. I don’t want to hear your chef crap either.” Chuckling, I followed him into the kitchen.

                Surprisingly, Justin didn’t cook that bad. The pancakes were a little too crispy for my exquisite tastes, but it was passable. The eggs were seasoned a bit too much and the bacon was too soft, but hey, at least he didn’t burn anything.

                While helping him wash dishes, I stared intensely at his arms and how the muscles flexed as he moved the dishrag in his hands across the dishes. Then when he moves the dishrag up and down or scrapes a harder part, his muscles bunch together beautifully and then contract. It’s almost like art. Entranced, I watched him wash. He is in his own little world, completely absorbed and I’m completely absorbed as well. After what seemed like forever, I heard Justin’s voice calling my name. Snapped out of my trance, I blinked up into his eyes.

                “Are you drooling? What’s the matter with you?” he asked, amused.

                With a deep blush and a roll of my eyes, I turned away. “Nothing. Are you done washing the dishes?” I offered to do them but he refused my help.

                “Yeah, and don’t think for a second that I didn’t notice the way you were staring at my arms.”

                My blush deepened and I bit down on my bottom lip. “N-no I wasn’t.”

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