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At first, I thought he was going to kiss me again. I thought that hand was going to wind back through my hair and pull me into him. I wanted to run my hands over his naked skin and feel his lips against mine. My heart stuttered and raced as my mind blanked in a sudden fog. He leaned in slightly and I caught my breath. This was it.
But all he did was lift a single finger. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he pointed in the opposite direction I’d been pointing.
“The home theater’s that way.”
My eyes snapped open, and I stared at him incredulously. Was he…was he just fucking with me?! The sexual tension was intense!
He turned back to the cupboards and pulled out two mugs for cider.
Still reeling, I nodded and made the PB&J sandwiches. I was so going to get him back for that.
I looked at him. “Hey, I had a thought. Want to do something a little kinky with the peanut butter and jelly?”
He winked. “What did you have in mind?”
I shot him the most seductive look I could muster. “Try and guess.”
“I’m willing to try it,” he said. “Have you ever done it before?”
“All the time.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s delicious.”
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “Then let’s try it.”
“I’ll need a frying pan.”
He cocked a brow. “What?”
“Yeah, we’re going to fry them. It’s a unique twist on the classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
“Oh.”
“It’s the world’s simplest sandwich, baby. And it’s absolutely perfect. Have you ever had it fried?”
“Um, no.”
I smirked. “Your mind is somewhere else. Did you think I was going to lick the jelly off of you?”
He grinned. “I was hoping I could talk you into using whipped cream or chocolate syrup.”
I laughed.
When he came over to wipe a blob of jelly off the counter, our hands touched for a brief second. I felt more electricity surge through me. I wanted to kiss him with the same urgency he had kissed me back at the beach.
He stared at me for a moment, a little grin playing around his lips as we joked around some. When the sandwiches were ready, I placed them in a huge stack and headed out where he’d pointed.
The home theater wasn’t how I pictured it. I thought it would look just like a miniature cinema—rows of red fabric chairs, greasy with nachos and leftover popcorn. This one could have been on the cover of Family Living. It was more living room than theater. There was a huge projector, sure, but instead of chairs there were long couches. Long, incredible couches that you sank into at least a foot the second you sat do
wn.
I grabbed some blankets and nested in the middle of one of these, flicking around with the remote and looking up happily when Marcus finally joined me—two steaming mugs in his hand. “We’re in luck! There’s a Prison Break marathon starting.”
He flashed me an indulgent smile and set our mugs on a coffee table, curling next to me under the blanket. The heat from his body seeped through my thin clothes, and in an uncharacteristically bold move, I flung my legs across his, settling in to enjoy the show. He stiffened for a moment in surprise but then leaned back with a small smile. I pretended not to notice as he debated for a moment where to put his hands, settling on resting them above the blankets on my thighs. Though his face was passive, his chest was rising and falling like he was excited.
That’s right, Marcus Taylor. Two can play that game.
