Page 46 of The F*ck-It List

“Hmm,” I hum knowingly. “You ever been the centre of the village gossip hub?” I realise my mistake immediately, it was an invasive question, but I was just trying to keep this easy back and forth up, enjoying it too much.

His expression shutters and he swallows hard, turning away from me to stare into the unlit fireplace. We’ve lost the easy banter, and I’m contemplating apologising when his attention catches on something and he sits forward to snatch a piece of paper from my coffee table.

“Is this the list?” he asks, unfolding the paper.

“Yeah.”

“Can I?” He points to the paper but he’s already reading it.

“Sure.” I sip my coffee.

“Try a new sport? Like what?”

“Any,” I say with a shrug. “I only have to try it, doesn’t mean I have to take it up, or even like it.”

He reads some more before his eyes go wide. “Uh…”

“What?”

He tries hard to hide a burst of laughter under a cough. “I, uh…” He laughs again.

I’m looking at him in confusion, waiting for an explanation when it—far too slowly—dawns on me. Why do I keep forgetting about the butt stuff? “Oh my God!” I shriek, lunging at the piece of paper.

He holds it out to his other side, too far for me to reach. “Hey, you said I could read it.”

“August,” I plead, but I’m sort of laughing too, even if it is out of sheer embarrassment.

“Threesome?” he asks.

“Oh my god, I didn’t put that on there.” I grab at the paper again, but he easily moves it out of my reach again.

“Get off in public, that’s a good one,” he says seriously.

“August,” I sob. “Please.”

“That’s one way to get the village talking.”

“Oh god,” I cry. I take another lunge and end up swinging a leg over his lap, leaning over, and snatching the paper from his grip. “You were not meant to see that,” I huff, looking down at him as I straddle his incredibly thick thighs.

He looks back at me, eyes glinting with amusement. “I notice none of those have been crossed off yet.”

“Shut up,” I grumble. “Cas put them on there, as a joke…maybe.”

“Maybe?” He raises a brow.

“They think I need to…broaden my horizons. But I’m good at sex, I’ll have you know.” Why the hell did I say that? No one brags about being good at sex. Not if they actuallyaregood at sex.Oh my god, stop thinking the word sex when yours is pressed to his groin.

“That so?” He is so obviously trying not to laugh at me, my feelings may actually be hurt.

I scowl at him, and he finally lets himself laugh, making his body vibrate beneath me and my thighs clench around his.

“I’m sorry, sunshine.” He sighs once he’s composed himself, not sounding sorry at all. “I just wasn’t expecting such filth from our newest candy-sweet resident.” He reaches up and pinches a strand of my pink hair between his thumb and forefinger. When he dropshis hand back again, it lands on my thigh and he keeps it there, my stomach flops. He must see a shift in my expression because his own easy smile slowly fades as he keeps his eyes on mine, the reality of our positions dawning on both of us and awareness of how surrounded I am by him, of everywhere we’re pushed together, is bubbling over me.

I lean forward slightly to start extracting myself from his lap because this is not a friendly position, but he lets out a soft grunt and I freeze. My face is next to his, cheek to cheek, my boobs pressed to his massive chest and his hand is still on my thigh, but I don’t move again because I watched him get tackled to the ground today and go crashing through a table.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask, my voice wobbling slightly.

He doesn’t answer straight away. I feel the deep rise and fall of his broad chest and his fingers flex against the giving flesh of my thigh. My heart is going a mile a minute, my breathing shallow as my mouth dries, I can smell the woodsy scent of him mixed with the surprisingly floral notes of his washing powder. I’m so close that the slightest movement scrapes his overgrown stubble against my cheek, the sensation following through with a dull pulse between my legs. He turns slightly so his lips are by my cheek.