Mia Hill. College bound with an athletic scholarship. A go-getter with big dreams and a fully thought out plan to make sure they come true.
But with her father's release from prison looming and the inevitable stresses of adulting, everything she wa...
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It turns out, knowing what Mia needs is completely different from being able to get it for her. At least right now, in this big ass unfamiliar kitchen.
After I got her tucked into her bed like the sad, cute and angry thing she is, I went off on a mission to make her a cup of hot chocolate. But I'm failing. I've only managed to find marshmallows and a mug so far. Can't find the damn cocoa mix.
Which might be a problem when trying to make hot chocolate...
I'm rooting through the cabinets like a kitchen bandit when a deep voice sounds out behind me.
"Cocoa mix is on the top shelf of the pantry."
I spin around to see Tommy standing at the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants. He's even got a pair of slippers on, a dad if I ever saw one.
"Thanks," I give him a nod of gratitude and head back over to the pantry I definitely already checked. Guess I didn't look high enough.
Behind me, I hear Tommy taking a seat at the island, the creaking sound of the chair putting me on edge. Is he really gonna sit here and watch me make this hot chocolate?
He clears his throat. "Do you know how to make it the way she likes?"
I guess I have my answer.
"Uh, yeah." I turn back around, cocoa mix in hand, and head back toward the stove to turn the kettle on. "As many marshmallows as I can fit and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, right?"
He smiles. "Seems you've done this before."
"Once or twice," I smirk, stopping myself from trying to calculate the real number of times I've grabbed a hot chocolate for his daughter. Since nine times out of ten, it's when I'm on my way to her dorm for a quick fuck. That math would only distract me in the worst way. "We have limited resources in the dorms, so I pick it up from the coffee shop on campus. They don't have marshmallows though, so I usually get her extra whipped cream."
His nod is solemn and appreciative, putting me a little more at ease. But the distraction has officially set in, despite my best efforts, and now I'm thinking of Mia naked. Fuck.
Pull it together, Gray.
"Mia says most places don't make it creamy enough," Tommy says, interrupting my thoughts. "But she doesn't like bothering the staff with a special order, so we usually just make it at home. We have a special variation here."
My ears perk up. I've never heard her mention anything about creaminess before, but it definitely sounds like Mia to not be extra at the coffee shop and order it differently. However, I have no issues being extra, and if there's a way to order it better going forward, I need to know.
"Oh yeah?" Leaning against the counter by the stove, I glance over at Tommy and clear my throat. "How's that?"
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he decides to use this moment to size me up some more, the challenge weighing heavy in the air around us as he stares me down. Eyes narrowed, head tilted, awkward silence. This guy is fucking terrifying. One minute, he's cool and calm. The next, it's like he's imagining how you'd look with a bloody nose.
