Forty-Two

Gia

I woke to the piercing sound of the smoke alarm. My eyes took a second to adjust, and as I swallowed my heart back down, I sucked in a lungful of bacon-infused air. Bacon and burned toast.

“Shit! Fucking grill,” Kian complained from the kitchen.

Just when I thought he couldn’t be more perfect, he exceeded my expectations by cooking me breakfast. Or at least he was trying to.

I flung back the comforter and got out of bed, stretching my arms with a yawn. My bruises were gone. There wasn’t one visible mark on my body. It was as if nothing had happened.

My stomach rumbled, and I followed the charred scent wafting my way through the smog. Kian was standing by the stove wearing the boxer briefs he’d slept in, tossing a burned piece of toast between his hands.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he growled.

“You know what they say; if you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen,” I commented, announcing my presence.

Kian sent the toast hurtling through the open window like a smoldering Frisbee. No