“I’ve got some brekkie ready downstairs if you’re game.”
Peace. Serenity. Control. Get yourself together and donotget an erection.
Although morning wood was a perfectly natural thing, it wasn’t exactly professional. Was it even possible to go back to being professional when I could still hear Cherry’s climax-fueled cries in the back of my head?
Only time would tell.
“I could eat,” I said, getting out of her rather large bed. There wasn’t much floor space left in her room around what had to be its California king size, but between the canopy, the weighted blanket, the quilted comforter, and the plethora of pillows, I got the feeling that was exactly how Cherry wanted it.
“Great! Meet me downstairs. Oh, I’ve got a spare toothbrush in the little closet in the bathroom.”
“Oh, really? Thanks.”
“No problem!”
She gave me a little salute. Although it was less forced than her winks from the night before, I was relieved that I wasn’t the only one feeling a little awkward around the edges. I wasn’t sure quite how to navigate this new normal, but it was good to know I wasn’t alone in that.
With a stretch that popped my spine all the way up, I headed to the bathroom and went through an abbreviated morning routine. There was a pack of toothbrushes in the little supply closet, and I got the impression they were more extras stocked up for when she needed a replacement rather than for multiple overnight guests.
Not that it was any of my business if she had people staying over to use toothbrushes, but my wolf seemed satisfied at my observation.
It only took me a handful of minutes to get downstairs, and when I did, I glanced into the open entryway of her craft room. The mess we’d made the night before was still there. That didn’t surprise me. Cherry didn’t strike me as the type to be blessed with organizational motivation. Maybe I’d clean it up for her.
But as I stood there, the scent of our activities filled my nose, and my body began to react.Nope, none of that now.
Hurrying to the kitchen, I was relieved when the thick scent of fresh eggs, toast, oatmeal, and baked potatoes replaced the echoes of last night in my olfactory senses. Thank God for small mercies.
“I hope you don’t mind the wide spread,” Cherry said with a smile, already loading up a plate. “I wish I had more meat for you, but I haven’t ordered groceries in a while. I do have some protein bars, though. I gotta eat them every meal or I won’t metabolize my meds.”
“Meds? For your ADHD?” I asked as I sat down at the tiny breakfast bar in her modest kitchen. I winced. That was rude to ask, wasn’t it?
“You betcha. I had a lot of trouble in my teens having the stimmies work for me. Either I’d get stuck on the most random things, they’d kick in after an insane delay, or they just wouldn’t work at all. That was when my doctor explained I needed protein to properly metabolize them and drink lots of water or electrolyte drinks to compensate for their dehydrating side effects. Because, as it turns out, dehydration makes them not as effective.”
“Huh.”
I hadn’t had to take medicine for anything since I’d been prepubescent. A benefit of being a shifter, for certain. There were the occasional sicknesses or injuries we could get that required a medical helping hand, but they were few and far between.
“It can be a little complicated, but I’m glad to have them. Wish I could be more regular about taking them, but one struggle at a time.”
She handed me an empty plate, and I dished up a bit of everything. When I finished, Cherry gave me one of those looks of hers, then put another potato and more eggs on my plate.
For not being a shifter herself, she certainly understood our intense hunger.
Together, we sat and tucked in. While it was certainly no organic fare cooked by a professional chef, it was nice. Homey. It reminded me of back when our mother and father used to cook on weekends. I remembered hearing them laugh or tease each other while Chris, Luther, and I watched Saturday morning cartoons.
I wish us kids had banded together and kept the tradition alive with our father after her death, but we hadn’t thought to, and our chef had taken over until we were in our later teens and could fend for ourselves on the weekends.
“Hmm, hand me the hot sauce, would you?” Cherry asked about halfway through.
“Hot sauce?” I questioned, starting to stand.
“Oh no, it’s not in the cabinet. Hudson knocked it off the counter last night and it rolled under the table on your side. Just never picked it up.”
I was a bit taken aback that she could remember that, but I looked under the table anyway and sure enough, there was a bottle of bright red stuff sitting against the table leg. Picking it up, I handed it to her and watched as she shook a truly heinous amount onto her scrambled eggs.
“You have a vendetta against your stomach that I don’t know about?” I asked, trying to get back to our previous rhythm.
“What? Oh, haha. No. I just like a little zing with my food. I’m not the biggest fan of eggs.”