“What the hell?” she grumbled and pulled a pillow over her head. She was having the best sleep ever, and she did not want it to end this early.
She felt Prem shift behind her. One naked arm reached across her body for the phone on the side table. His hip nudged hers, and morning wood automatically had her wiggling her butt against it. Prem clamped a hand over her hip to make her stop.
“Yeah?” She heard his sleep-rough voice say. “Yeah, okay . . . I’ll be there . . . No, don’t bother. He’s my patient. I’ll take care of him. Send me the chart, and I’ll meet Dr. Villasante at the hospital.”
She pulled the pillow off her head but couldn’t get the energy to open her eyes yet. “You have to go?” she whispered sleepily.
“Yeah,” he said. “I have a patient in surgery right now.”
“Mm.”
She couldn’t help but smile when she felt the firm kiss on the corner of her mouth before he hopped off the bed. “Stay,” he called out. “Sleep.” She didn’t have to be told twice.
The next time Kareena opened her eyes, the room was brighter, and there was a familiar smell of coffee and eggs. She sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. What time was it?
She reached out and felt the cool spot on the bed next to her. How was it that she always had trouble sleeping elsewhere, but the minute she was with Prem, sleep was the easiest thing in the world?
She grabbed her glasses from the bedside table and slipped them on. Her vision cleared, and she was able to focus on her phone screen. Eight a.m.
“Holy shit!” She bolted into an upright position. How the hell was that even possible? She never woke up that late. After Prem and Kareena had showered, or what other people may loosely consider a shower, she had put on one of his shirts and went to bed at a respectable time.
Kareena grabbed Prem’s sweatshirt, then found her cotton panties and managed to pile her hair on top of her head as she walked into the kitchen. The New York City skyline was shining brightly, gleaming with steel and glass, which meant that she was going to be late for work. Very late. And she’d have to justify to her grandmother, if Dadi was home, how she ended up coming in the house with the same clothes she wore the night before. That was going to be a fun adventure.
She turned the corner and found Prem in a pair of scrubs standing in front of the kitchen stove with a frying pan. He flashed her one of his cocky smiles over his shoulder. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I should’ve been up a long time ago. Didn’t you have to go to see your patient?”
“The patient’s still in surgery. I have more time than I’d thought,” Prem said. He kept glancing at an iPad propped on the counter to his left, while simultaneously wielding a spatula.
“You know,” Kareena said as she slipped onto one of the barstools. “This is pretty sexy.”
“What is?”
“You having people depend on you. It’s very adult. Grown-up. And I guess that’s sexy.”
Prem grinned, and the familiar dent in his chin deepened. “You’re into competence porn, huh? I guess that suits you.”
Before Kareena could ask if there was coffee, he slid a cup in front of her. Instead of the black tar that she knew he preferred to drink, this one smelled like peppermint creamer.
“You hate creamer,” she said as she cupped her hands around the mug.
“Yeah, but you don’t,” he said. “I have to say, it was hard getting peppermint this time of year. No wonder you freeze it.”
It was a jolt to the system to realize that he’d bought something just for her. The coffee, the breakfast. It was all more than she could’ve ever imagined.
Fuck, how the hell did she get this deep?
Prem slid the soft scrambled eggs out of the skillet onto a plate and put the plate in front of her. They were light and fluffy, just like she preferred.
“You made me eggs,” she blurted out, not knowing what else to say. Her heart practically stopped at the sight of them.
“Yeah,” he said as he turned off the range and dropped dishes into his sink. “I remember you said that’s your preferred breakfast food.”
“I love eggs, too. My mom used to make them for me when I was a kid, and now there is a sense of nostalgia attached to them.”
“Scrambled? Fried? Over easy? Hard-boiled?”
She laughed. “Scrambled. The delicious soft way that looks all bright and yellow. There is nothing like scrambled eggs with coffee.”
He wasn’t even looking at her as he rushed through his kitchen, grabbing his tablet, his bag that he’d left on the other barstool, and his car keys.