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We walk closely behind as Lake checks back every once in a while to make sure we’re close.
“So… how was it?” she asks softly enough that the guys in front of us won't hear.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That good, huh?” she snickers.
“I hate him, remember?”
“Hate sex is the best kind… I should know. But makeup sex with Lake is pretty damn good too. Maybe you should try that next and give him a pass on shoving the drunk.”
First Isla, now her too with forgiving Slade?
“He just keeps poking his nose where I haven’t asked it to be,” I tell her.
“Ok… you're right. If you didn’t want him to get involved, then he shouldn’t have. But did he really get a tattoo for you?” she asks.
I whip a look over at her.
Did he tell our friends that he got a tattoo for me?
Does everyone know?
“Did he tell you that?” I ask.
“No, Isla did. He told her that the tattoo was for a birthday, but it isn’t his birthday. Then she said he looked at you like you were his next meal. She didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to unravel the mystery.”
It was at that moment that I realized that he didn’t show me the tattoo he got because he said it needed to heal.
“I guess,” I say.
“What is the tattoo of? Please tell me it’s a heart with an arrow shot through it,” she says with a teasing chuckle, gripping around my arm tighter as she pulls me closer.
“I have no idea,” I tell her honestly.
And now I’ll be up all night trying to figure out how Slade can turn my body into Jello… and what tattoo he got for me that will forever be etched into his skin.
Chapter Twelve
Penelope
It’s been four days since my birthday and the incident where I inexplicably tripped over the middle console of my car and fell on Slade’s dick while I hate-screwed him to scratch the itch that doesn’t feel any more satisfied than before.
Not because it wasn’t good…
God, it was too good.
But now my body is craving Slade’s monster cock, and no amount of Serendipity’s delicious sticky buns are going to curb my appetite for another round with him.
I woke up the following morning to a bouquet of mixed flowers, including gorgeous peonies, and my car keys sitting outside my apartment door.
He must have asked one of the guys on the team what my apartment number is because I never told him. My heart warmed to see my favorite flowers sitting on my apartment doorstep. How did he know they’re my favorite? I bet he just picked whatever the florist told him to get.
First, the chai lattes, sticky buns…, and now stunning flowers at my door?
I hate how my heart wants to dethaw towards him.
This is a real problem.
