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“What’s that one you watched a billion times after you turned eighteen?”
I frown. “Bridget Jones’s Diary?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
He turns back to the television and I watch as he searches for it, somewhat shocked he thought of it. My mother is a stickler for rules and television ratings, which meant Teagan and I were stuck waiting to watch all the popular shows and movies until we were old enough. BecauseBridget Jones’s Diary wasrated R, I couldn’t watch it until I was eighteen, but once I did, it quickly became my favorite. I think I watched it so many times, I memorized the script. I’m shocked Jace paid enough attention to remember and hate how it means something to me that he did. My feelings are already turning in circles as it is. I’m like a freaking dog chasing its tail with him. I can’t quite seem to grasp how I’m feeling, and I have no idea what’s gotten into me tonight, but I’m starting to wonder if this was a bad idea because my libido seems to be in overdrive.
“Perfect.” He finds the movie and clicks on it before rummaging in the plastic bag and pulling out a box of Sour Patch Kids, Goobers, and Swedish Fish. “Pick your pleasure.”
My stomach clenches, and I repress a groan.Why does everything he say have to sound so .. .sexual?
Without answering, I grab the box of Goobers. There’s nothing sexual about a Goober.
“Hmmm, interesting,” Jace says, picking up the box of Sour Patch Kids.
“What’s interesting?” I ask, mocking his tone.
He shrugs. “It’s just that a person’s candy choice says a lot about them.”
I snort. “And what does my choice of chocolate-covered peanuts say about me?”
“You thrive on traditions and your tastes are classic. Comfort and predictability are your wheelhouse. You tend to be introverted, and hate surprises.”
“In other words, I’m boring.”
“Oh, Cupcake, you’re far from boring.”
His voice vibrates deep into my bones, and I frown, wondering how the hell he got that from a box of chocolate candy, because it’s pretty accurate. Ever since the incident, I hate surprises, loathe them in fact, and the last three years, regardless of the reasons, proved I was as introverted as they come.
I swallow, my throat dry, before I pop a Goober in my mouth. “Fair enough,” I say, wanting to change the subject.
“Can I ask you something?”
I brace myself. With Jace, I never know where he’s going. “I’m not telling you the color of my underwear.”
He barks out a laugh. “Damn. A man can dream.” He winks and I melt into the couch. “As much as I’d love firsthand knowledge of that information”—a flush spreads to my neck—“I want to know why you always smell like a piña colada?”
“That’swhat you want to know?” I ask, grinning.
“Desperately.”
“It’s my shampoo and conditioner.” I shrug. “The base scent of it is coconut. I also have the same brand of lotion, too.”
He groans and the sound is so sensual, my stomach turns inside out. “I fucking love it,” he says.
“Uh,” I clear my throat, trying to keep my cool. “Good to know. If you ever wanna borrow some, let me know. It’s the least I can do.”
“Eh, I’d rather just smell it on you,” he says like it’s nothing. “Wanna hear something funny?”
“What?”
“Chris found my stash of chocolate in the greens today.”
I gasp as I picture him opening the tub of super greens only to find it filled with Snickers bars. “What did he do?”
“He was pissed. Made me watch him eat the whole bag like it was food porn, the perv.”
I tip my head back and laugh until it hurts. “Too funny. Poor Chris.”
