Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 8

Trying to calm my nerves, I focus on what I'm doing, my hands shaking slightly. "I, uh, made breakfast."

He grunts again, taking a seat at the island. "Looks good."

"Th-thanks," I stutter, glancing down and realizing why his eyes keep wandering. My nipples are pressing against the thin fabric of my shirt, making them extremely noticeable. A wave of embarrassment washes over me, but I force myself to act like I don't see it. "Coffee will be ready in a minute," I add, my voice barely above a whisper.

Marx simply nods, seemingly unfazed. But there's a knowing look in his eyes, and I can't help but feel exposed, especially after last night's towel incident.

I busy myself with the coffee, pouring two mugs and bringing them to the table. "Cream or sugar?" I ask, still avoiding his eyes.

"Black," he says, his voice still short.

I should have known he drinks his coffee black. He looks like the type of person that would.

"Right," I reply, setting the mug in front of him. "I hope you enjoy it." I can't help but add, "I made this as a thank you to all of you for making me feel so welcome."

He takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. "You didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to." I give him a small, hesitant smile, feeling a bit more at ease. "Please, dig in."

He begins to eat, and I finally allow myself to breathe, my nerves slowly settling. There's something about Marx, a quiet intensity that both scares and intrigues me. I watch him for a moment, still feeling that lingering embarrassment. Maybe I should excuse myself and put on a bra. Or maybe not, because then it would be obvious that I knew he was staring at my nipples.

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the sound of Marx eating. I fidget, unsure of what to say, but the tension begins to break as I hear more footsteps coming down the hall.

"Morning, you two!" Fowler says, his voice cheerful as he strides into the kitchen. His eyes light up at the sight of the breakfast spread. "Wow, Emmie, did you do all of this?"

"Good morning, Fowler," I greet him, feeling the familiar warmth at his presence. "And yes, I did. Help yourself."

As Fowler loads his plate, Locke and Cruz wander in, both looking half-asleep but appreciative of the breakfast feast.

"Smells heavenly," Locke says, his voice soft and sleepy.

Cruz chimes in with a playful grin, "Waking up to this feels like winning the lottery!"

I laugh, feeling the energy in the room lift as everyone gathers around the table. They all dig in, and the kitchen comes alive with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of utensils. I feel less awkward with all of them here.

"So, Emmie," Fowler begins, breaking through my thoughts, "how are you settling in? Everything okay with your room?"

I nod, enjoying the taste of the food and the company. "Yes, everything's perfect. Thank you all so much for having me here. I really appreciate it."

"It's our pleasure," Locke says sincerely. "No need to keep thanking us."

Cruz winks at me, "But if you do want to keep thanking us, feel free to make breakfast like this anytime you want!"

Everyone laughs, including Marx, whose eyes soften for a moment. I can't help but feel a flutter in my heart at the sound.

"Em, you mentioned living in the city before. What was that like? I mean, if you don't mind sharing," Locke asks.