Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44: Penny

The mit still smells like rain when I stretch out under the blanket, santing the rane, wan

But then practicality kicks in

and the fact that my stomach growls loud enough to embarass me into action. –

I push the blanket off and sit up, soothing down Asher’s I shirt over my bare legs

torn toward the kitchen.

“Okay,” I announce, veier sill scratchy with sleep but determined. The making birakfast.

I don’t look directly at him- don’t dare

because if I look, I’ll remember exactly how it felt waking up half–sprawled across his lap, feeling the steady heat of him anchoring me to the earth

myself immediately, pulling open cabinets and drawers, grabbing pans and eggs and whatever else looks semi–breakfasty.

I busy m

Behind me, Asher doesn’t move from the couch, still stretched out like a lazy stormcloud, scrolling through something on his phone without much interest.

Good

I can do this

his without melting into a puddle of embarrassment.

Mostly.

I crack eggs into a bowl with far more aggression than necessary, whisking them like they personally insulted me, all while pretending very, very hand that I don’t feel the phantom memory of his hands gripping my waist last night–lifting me onto the counter like it was nothing.

The thought sends a slick, molten kind of heat curling through my stomach, and I tighten my grip on the whisk until it squeaks against the glass.

Focus

Food.

That’s it.

Nothing else.

I’m reaching for the toaster when I hear the soft creak of the couch cushions, the quiet shuffle of feet against hardwood.

I don’t have to turn around to know he’s behind me now, I’m getting used to it –

the air shifts when Asher enters a room, like the gravity gets heavier, like everything that matters is suddenly orbiting around him whether it wants to r

I keep my head down, pretending I’m laser–focused on buttering bread,

He crosses to the coffee maker, moving with that same effortless control, and starts grinding fresh beans like it’s a ntual.

I tell myself to ignore him

to just keep cooking and pretend my heart isn’t doing Olympic–level flips inside my chest.

But then-

because the universe hate me

hr speaks.

‘You don’t coo much, do you?”

1 snap my head up, gasping dramatically like he just slapped me across the face,

“Excuse wos,” I say, pointing the butter knife at h

him. “You will rat this even if there’s eggshells in it.

He snorts—an actual, genuine, almost laugh- and shakes his head.

Without another word, he strides over, mulges me aside easily si

a gratie hump of his hip, and takes the pan from me like I’m a toddler with a loaded

weapon.

I throw my resu

“Hey!”

up in mock outrage

He just grants, expertly cracking eggs one–handed like he’s judging me with every move.

I lean my elbows on the counter, pretending not to be impressed, and cock my head to the side.

“Would you eat eggshells for a week straight for a million dollars?”

He doesn’t even look at me.

“Don’t start again with your questions.”

Lgiggle, not even trying to hide it.

There’s something endlessly satisfying about poking at

about seeing the small cracks in his permanent gru

grumpy armor.

He flips the eggs neatly in n the pan, still not smiling but somehow radiating the kind of exasperated patience that makes me want to push even more.

I hop up onto a stool, swinging my legs, feeling lighter than I have in days.

Asher teaches up to grab a plate from the highest shelf, and my eyes widen despite myself.

“How tall are you? I blurt out before I can stop myself

He glances down at me, one brow raised.

“Six–four.”

I blink

little — and sets the plate down like it doesn’t cost him anything,

He smirks — just a li

And you?” he tosses back.

1 grimace, reluctant,

“Five–three,” I admit. “But! On pointe, I’m like five–fre

Chapter 44: Penny

He shakes his head, dendpan.

“Doesn’t count.”

I gasp, clutching my chest dramatically.

He shrugs, completely unbothered, and starts plating the eggs like he didn’t just insult my entire existence.

MOGH!

“You’re basically fun–sized,” he adds, and this time I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a real smile,

“Fun–sized.” I repeat, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I am notnud–stred;”

He just grunts, handing me a plate like he’s already decided this argument is beneath him

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