_cjma Mafia Story

Chapter 7: How Do You Like Your Eggs?

You wake up in a bed that's not your own.

Looking around, you see an almost empty room, save for a few photos of some chubby Asian baby with his family. Suddenly, the memories of last night come rushing back to you. Paolo. Shoot, did I do it with him? Did I lose it to him? Panicking, you lift the duvet off of yourself. Fully dressed. So we didn't do anything? 

"If you're wondering if we did anything, we didn't." you turn around to see Paolo, standing at the doorway with a coffee mug in his hand. "Good morning, by the way." 

You stare at him, confused. We didn't do anything? After all that build up? 

"Why?" you blurt out.

Paolo smiles, "why didn't we do anything? Quick tip, Y/N, if you want a guy, don't call him by his arch-enemy's name. As much as I'd love to think I'm as handsome, if not more handsome than CJ, I don't exactly appreciate the comparison in bed." 

You feel like punching yourself. Seriously, Y/N? You did what?? This is why you'll stay alone forever. You apologise, trying your hardest to sound sincere, but part of you was relieved nothing had happened.  

Paolo seems fine with it, even offering you coffee. If you had been in his place, you probably would've kicked yourself out the moment you said "C". Why is he so nice? You take a moment to look at him, actually look at him. He was quite tall, about 5'10, and slender but not like skinny skinny. Obviously not, he has an entire gym to himself. Boy can work out whenever he wants. He was leaning on the door frame, staring out the window, seemingly unaware of your staring. You had never really noticed it before, but he had tattoos on his chest and arms. Well, obviously you wouldn't have noticed the chest tattoos when he was wearing a shirt, but you were surprised you hadn't noticed the arms while training. Training, yeah definitely "training". You were kind of preoccupied to notice his arms, Y/N. You bite your lip, thinking back to him on top of you, the way he had so easily flipped you onto the floor. 

He must've noticed you suddenly going into daydreamland, because he waves his hand  to get your attention. "Want some breakfast? I'm cooking downstairs." At the mention of breakfast, your stomach growls. The last time you ate was lunch yesterday. You nod and follow him down to the kitchen. As you walk down the stairs, the warm smell of pancakes and hot chocolate envelop you. There are so many other smells that you can't help but be confused. Bacon? Eggs? What else did he cook? 

"I didn't know what you liked, so I made a few things." he says, as you enter the kitchen. 

A few things? A FEW? Jeez, Paolo, you made enough to feed a small country. Spread out across the tabletop were multiple dishes. Bacon, pancakes, waffles, etc... it was basically one of those buffet spreads from a hotel. He even had those cereal dispensers. 

"Do you want eggs?" he asks, as he puts on an apron. You nod, still shocked by the sheer amount of food. There's two of us, how are we going to eat all this? "How do you like them done?"

Your mind blanks for a second. How are eggs done?  "Surprise me" you say, trying to sound as suave as possible. Your brain is short circuiting, just try not to let him know that, Y/N. He smiles and turns to the stove. What do I do now? Do I eat? You opt to just stand there awkwardly, that's always a good option. You wonder what type of eggs he's making you. You can't hear sizzling, so not a sunny-side up. Maybe an omelette? 

Watching him cook is like watching an artist paint. His hands work flawlessly, scanning the kitchen top for items. He puts some bread in the toaster, and when it pops, he's ready with the knife and butter. He takes something out of a pot and places it in a paper towel. You can't see what it is, but your mouth waters with anticipation.