Credence

hanging over the center island, empty, as well. I spot the red light of the
coffee machine, though, and pad over in my bare feet, keeping an eye out
for one of the guys.
Finding a cup in a dish rack, I pour myself a cup.
“Morning.”
I jump, the cup nearly slipping out of my hand as the coffee sloshes
over the rim. Searing drops land on my thumb, and I hiss.
I glance over my shoulder, seeing Jake stroll into the kitchen and open
the refrigerator,
“Morning,” I murmur, brushing the hot liquid off my skin.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks.
I cast another look, seeing him take out a drink, sweat already glistening
all over his arms, neck, and back as his T-shirt hangs out of his back pocket.
It’s only about seven. How early do they get up?
“Fine,” I mumble, taking a paper towel and wiping up the coffee. I
actually slept like shit, but that will only open me up to more questions, so
it’s easier to lie.
“Good,” he replies.
But he just stands there, and I can feel his eyes on me.
I take another paper towel and wipe the wooden countertop some more.
“Warm enough?” he presses.
Huh? I look at him questioningly.
“Your bedroom last night?” he says, elaborating. “Was it warm
enough?”
His light hair, damp with sweat, sticks to his forehead and temples as he
looks at me, and I nod, turning away again.
But he doesn’t leave.
He just stays there, and I feel myself wanting to sigh, because this is the
part where people usually expect me to make an effort to carry on a
conversation.
The kitchen grows smaller, and the silence more deafening, except for a
bird cawing in the distance. I search my brain for something to say, the
awkward seconds stretching and making me want to bolt.
But then he moves closer all of a sudden, and I straighten, on alert as his
chest nearly touches my arm. I’m about to move away, but then he reaches
in front of me, and I watch as he switches off the coffee maker.