I thought I’d bring you breakfast, but unfortunately we’re out of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” I forced my eyes open. “Macon?” I struggled to hold on to the end of a good dream while trying to make sense of Macon’s presence in my room. “Want me to make you cinnamon French toast instead?” “Cinnamon?” Then my foggy brain finally figured it out. “Brody!” “He’s out for a run.” Macon sat down on the edge of the bed. “But yes, he filled me in.” “Filled you in? Because my dating life is so exciting?” He shrugged. “You haven’t dated anyone since you moved in, and you’ve gone out with this guy twice. That makes it a least somewhat newsworthy.” “Get out of my room.” “Why? Did I interrupt a dream about Cinnamon Boy?” “No…” I wasn’t interested in telling him who my dream was about. I didn’t need any of that psychoanalysis from him. Macon’s parents were both psychiatrists, and he liked to pretend they’d imparted their wisdom on him. A favorite way of his to show it off was to annoy the hell out of me.
What do You think about Shaken Not Stirred (Mixology)?
