Debbie.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I heard it—the question—but not quite, because… my eyes. They somehow had totally refused to get off the solid wall in front of me.
There were tattoos, a few write-ups on his arm. But it was nothing like Rex's.
“Debbs,” he called again. And I snapped back to myself.
“I, uhmm… I—”
He stepped closer.
“What? Why are you here?” he asked again.
“I… I… came with breakfast. For you.”
“Debbie, if you keep looking at me like that, I will not hold back from f*****g you,” he said.
Fuck. I hadn’t even noticed that my eyes were glued to his abs. I was sick at this point, and I didn’t even need a therapist to tell me that.
My face grew red from embarrassment as I shifted my gaze, looking at anywhere but his face.
“Breakfast is ready,” I said.
“An
