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“That was a long time ago.” She picks up her fork. “Shall we?”
Boat Shoes whispers something in her ear.
She shakes her head. Digs into one of the slices of vanilla bean. “Be honest. Tell me if you hate it.”
Hate. It’s such a funny word.
Who could hate anything?
The world is so beautiful and bright.
Sweet, like spearmint.
Like lemon.
Like Ryan.
When I finally come down from my high, Penny and Boat Shoes are debating between Earl Grey lavender and lemon poppy seed.
It’s an easy choice.
Lemon.
Like Ryan’s soap.
Like…
Okay, I’m still floating. But fifteen minutes of wedding small talk cure me of that.
There will be a hundred guests. And a reception at a hotel ballroom. And have Penny and Boat Shoes picked their song? Oh, they have, and it’s something as douchey as his face…
I’m about ready to stab them both with my fork, when Ryan excuses us.
He helps me up, slides his arm around my waist, pulls me close.
We stay like that as we leave the restaurant. As we walk down the sunny street. As we step into Ryan’s car.
His pretenses fall away as he pulls the door closed.
He turns to me. “You have—”
“Huh?”
“Here.” His thumb brushes my lip.
The pad is rough, calloused, but his touch is so soft.
He stares back at me as he catches a drop of frosting on his digit.
Slowly, he brings it to his mouth.
His lips curl around his thumb. He sucks icing off it like it’s some part of me.
Heat pools between my legs.
God, he’s sexy.
I need to focus on anything else. “You hate it?” I’m not even sure what it is. The morning. The meeting. The bakery. The too sweet cakes.
