Half of Riley’s mouth is lifting by the time I finish speaking. She blinks at me, then drags her teeth across her bottom lip and nods her head, declaring, “I want to make scrambled. They’re my favorite.”

“Hell yeah. Do your thing, girl,” I encourage, making her giggle. I smile at her, giving her that before she spins around to get started.

Riley Tennyson, smiling and laughing in my kitchen.

Fuck yeah. I like this.

I sip my coffee as she moves to the fridge and takes out the eggs. “I cooked them wrong for years until someone told me you gotta take them off the heat when they still look wet. I had no clue,” I tell the back of her, wanting to offer up some advice without Riley knowing that’s what I’m doing.

That dumbass she was with should’ve helped her out if he was bitching about what she was giving him. If you’ve got the balls to critique someone, you need to show them what they’re doing wrong so they can learn. Otherwise, keep your fucking mouth shut.

I’m going to assume, since he is a dumbass, that Richard bitched and didn’t offer up any advice.

Riley straightens up and looks at me over her shoulder after digging through a bottom cabinet and pulling out a pan. “Yeah. That’s a . . . pretty important step. Otherwise you’ll totally overcook them,” she says, sounding sure of herself.

I smirk behind my coffee cup.

She starts getting everything ready—cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them together with some milk while her pan is heating up.

I stare at the back of her, at my name written in white. The block lettering peeking out from underneath the hood.

“I’m going to go grocery shopping today, so let me know if you want anything specific,” she says, lifting my gaze to her messy, bedhead blonde. I hear the sizzling of the pan as she pours in the egg mixture.

“Can’t think of anything,” I tell her. “Except maybe some more Raisin Bran. I’m running low.”

“What?” she chuckles. “You have like, five boxes in your pantry. I saw them last night when I was getting out the bread.”

“That’s a two-day supply for me. We covered this.”

Riley continues laughing quietly as she stirs. “Okay. I’ll pick up some more while I’m out,” she says through a smile I can’t see. “I was thinking about making chili for dinner. Do you like chili?”

“I fucking love chili, but I wasn’t lying. If you put it in front of me, I’ll eat it. So if it’s something you feel like making, make it, babe. Don’t worry about what I like.”

“But what if I make something, like chili, and you don’t eat meat?” she asks, turning her head to peer back at me. “I need to know if you have any dietary restrictions. I can make it meatless.”

I cock my head. “Aside from the fact that I got dead animals mounted on my wall, do I look like I don’t eat meat to you?” I ask her.

Riley’s eyes lower to my chest, hold there for a beat then quickly dart back up to my face. “No. You look like you eat meat,” she says before turning back around. “A lot of it,” she adds on a mumble.

I smirk as she continues stirring up the eggs.

“So, how are you getting to your appointment today? You can’t drive, can you?”

“Nope. Truck’s a stick,” I answer, setting my cup down. “I’ll probably just call a cab since I can’t bum a ride. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m sorry I can’t take you,” she says, turning sideways to look at me while keeping hold of the spatula. Her eyes are heavy with sadness. “I’d skip class if it wasn’t for my test today, but they don’t let us make those up. I really can’t miss it. I’m sorry.”

“I said it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

She presses her lips together, looking like she is worrying about it.

Fuck.

I don’t want her worrying. And I don’t want Riley thinking she needs to be apologizing either—I got enough of that shit last night.

“Riley, babe, I know you want to help me out as much as you can, I get that, I appreciate it too, but you gotta life and shit that’s important. More important than giving me a ride,” I tell her, needing this information to stick so we don’t have this conversation again. “I got you here making me breakfast, darlin’, and you’re talking about making me dinner too. Honest, as much as I enjoy eating, I care about that more than you taking me to a doctor’s appointment. So when I say don’t worry about it, don’t worry about it. Don’t tell me you’re sorry either. You don’t need to be. Okay?”

She pulls in a breath through her nose, then nods her head. “Okay,” she says quietly.

“Good. Shit’s settled. No more apologizing.”

Her mouth tips up in the corner.

I jerk my chin at the stove. “Now turn around so I can go back to watching your cute little ass making me eggs,” I order.

Riley narrows her eyes while fighting an even bigger smile.

I don’t fight shit. I give her my grin because I want her seeing it.

“Friends don’t do that,” she informs me with some sass before spinning back around.

“Friends don't do what?”

“Look at each other’s asses. That’s not a friendly thing to do.”

“Fuck that,” I grumble. “What’d I say about adding rules to this shit?” I watch Riley shake her head as she takes the eggs off the heat and separates them onto two plates. “Babe, don’t even. The only way I’m not looking at your ass is if you quit having one. And I know you look at Beth’s so don’t play with me. Checking out asses is friendly.”

“Oh, my God,” Riley chuckles. She turns off the burner and carries over our plates, setting mine down in front of me. Our eyes lock over the top of the sink. “You probably think we make out all the time, don’t you? Like at sleepovers? French kissing is friendly too, right? Is that what you're going to tell me next?”

I stare at her with a straight face as she takes a bite of her eggs.

“What?” she asks around her mouthful, shielding her lips with the back of her hand.

I smile.

Her hand lowers and her mouth grows tight. “Really?” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “You’re picturing that, aren’t you? Me and her making out. You’re totally thinking about that.”