Hoax in One

| 19 |

I tried to leave Tate sleeping in my bed the next morning because I had an early class.

"Stay sleeping," I whispered when he grunted, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back on the bed. "You can actually sleep in."

A rare occurrence for Tate.

I played with the hair near his temple. "Seriously, get some rest."

"Nooo." He rubbed his eyes. "I don't want to. Seth's going to come pick me up with my luggage in a little bit anyway."

"I have class."

"Skip it. I'll make you French toast."

"Umm..." I hesitated. I really didn't have to go. "Okay, you win." He didn't have to convince me anyway. Who says no to French toast cooked by someone else? Not me.

Millie and Alice meandered into the kitchen while Tate was clanking the pots and pans and metal bowls around.

Millie peered into Tate's mixing bowl. "French toast? Did you use too much milk?"

"No," Tate scowled.

"Leave him alone," Alice laughed, sitting down. "He's cooking us breakfast too. Right?"

"Of course," Tate said.

Millie humphed. "It looks like too much milk."

"It's not too much milk," Tate replied. He pointed with his spatula to the seat next to me. "Sit."

"Don't make the pan too—" Millie started.

"—too hot, or it will burn the crust," Tate finished. "Sit."

Millie relented and smiled deviously at me when Tate turned his back. I rolled my eyes at her.

Tate proceeded to dip four pieces of bread into his perfect ratio of egg to milk mixture and laid them on the pan. It crackled softly.

Millie eyed every one of his movements, silently judging him like she was some kind of French toast connoisseur. I doubted she'd ever made French toast in her life. I think she just wanted to see if she could make him squirm.

Tate finished topping our three plates with powdered sugar. He sprinkled Millie's with a second scoop, balanced one plate on his forearm, and turned to serve us. He slid us each a plate, leaving me for last. He leaned over the counter and kissed me, way hotter than the pan had been and too hot for nine in the morning in front of my roommates. His lips parted a centimeter, his tongue just grazing mine, which couldn't help but taste him back. I barely made out his satisfied hum like I tasted good. I would have thought I imagined it if I hadn't felt it against my lips.

Alice and Millie were looking at us, mouths agape, but quickly recovered when Tate broke apart and pointed to Millie's plate. "Eat."

Millie took a huge bite and gave Tate a look of ecstasy. "It passes," she said nonchalantly before Tate smirked and hit her jokingly with a floral kitchen towel.

A man who loves your friends and they love him on top of a man who cooks.

I could get used to this. Maybe we were a little too used to it already.

When we were done, we left the house together, where Seth was waiting for Tate outside in an Uber to go to the airport, and I was going to walk to class.

Tate threw his backpack in the back seat and pulled me into a kiss. He placed his hands around my head and angled it toward his face, deepening the kiss.

At least he was kissing me without all the angst. He'd probably figured out how to do it without thinking he was going to rip all of my clothes off. Baby steps.