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“Hey, Deanna?”
I glance at him from over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
Zane hesitates. “Do you want to go to a Halloween party with me?”
It takes everything I have to keep my face neutral. He’s asking me out? Why? I come over, we fuck, I leave. Why in the world would he want to go on a date with me? I’m relieved that I have a legitimate excuse to say no. “I have to work.”
“Get someone to cover for you.”
Shit. I should have said no flat-out. Feeling like a bitch before the words ever leave my mouth, I say, “I don’t want to.”
Zane presses his lips tight together and nods. With that, I leave. Why in the world would he ask me out? Brayden knows more about me than Zane does and I’ve been fucking Zane longer. Zane doesn’t even know where I work or what I actually do. I told him I work in retail, which I do. We don’t talk before or after sex past how was your day and replying that it was good or shitty. It’s truly just fucking. On top of that, I can obviously be a bitch to him.
I feel bad about it because Zane seems nice from what little I do know of him. He has that good guy vibe and I certainly don’t want to be the girl to tarnish that. As I get dressed and head out of his house, I wonder if it’s time to cut things off with him.
Monday comes and it’s Halloween. I don’t have any classes tonight because of the trick-or-treating. I leave the shop early and in the safe hands of one of my more reliable employees, so I can head over to Brayden’s. He doesn’t know I’m coming, which will either work out fine or blow up in my face. I knock on his door. The rush of anxiety that hits me is unnerving and annoying. As much fun as it is to pull Brayden out of his element, I’m putting myself outside of my comfort zone as well. I’m starting not to like it.
But then, Brayden opens the door. His expression is blank, but once he sees me, he smiles a little. I relax; he’s happy to see me if he’s smiling. “What are you doing here? I thought I was meeting you later.”
“Well, I normally bake cookies and hand them out as well.” I hold up the bundle of supplies in my arms. “I thought you could help me.”
“You want me to help you bake cookies?” One eyebrow rises with skepticism.
“Yes.”
He leans against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest, the cool, detached expression back on his face. “What are you up to, Deanna?”
I laugh. “Nothing. I only want to bake cookies. Are you helping me or not? Because if not, I need to go home and bake them.” When he doesn’t say anything, I add, “You can have a cookie or two if you want, as a reward for helping me.”
His eyes flick down to the bags of ingredients in my hands and then back up to me. “I don’t eat sweets.” What? What kind of person doesn’t eat sweets? Is he an alien? I mean, I know he said he likes to eat healthy, but everyone still likes to treat themselves, don’t they? “I help you, my reward is eating you before we go.” He turns and walks away before I can fully process his words. “Come on, darlin’,” he calls out over his shoulder. “The sooner the cookies are in the oven, the sooner my mouth is on your body.”
That certainly gets me moving.
We are quiet at first as Brayden turns on the oven and pulls out pans while I take the ingredients out of the bags. He leans his hip against the counter, crosses his ankles, and folds his arms over his chest again to watch me.
Before I can remind him that he’s supposed to be helping me, he says, “You feel comfortable enough to drop by unannounced? What if I wasn’t home?”
“Then you’d have never known I was here at all. I’d prefer to think of it as me surprising you. Why in the world don’t you eat sweets? I know you like healthy stuff, but surely you sneak something full of sugar in every now and then.”
Brayden shakes his head. “I don’t like sweets.”
I reach up and touch my forefinger to his nose. “You’re weird.” I grin when I see flour left behind. “What do you indulge in then?” There must be something.
Brayden reaches into the bag of flour and leaves a streak across my forehead. “Payback,” he explains. Then, he reaches up and opens the top cabinet above the fridge behind him. There’s a stash of at least three kinds of chips: one regular, one kettle-cooked, and the Pringles brand. “My guilty pleasure is salt and vinegar chips.”
“That’s not very healthy.”
“I know, but I work out enough and have them only here and there, so it balances out.”
I dip my fingers into the flour, pretend there’s something on his lip that needs to be wiped away, and hum. “And how often is here and there?”
Brayden grins, my heart stuttering from how marvelous he looks, and his fingers find the flour again while I start rolling the dough. “Once every week or so. You know,” he places another streak along my cheek. “I don’t like a messy house.”
I pause and glance around. His house is pretty orderly, but I also know that he won’t freak if something is out of place. After all, our clothes have been strewn about many times for hours and he didn’t care. There’s also always a towel lying around in odd places like he took it off and hung out to dry wherever he was standing at the moment. Does he never get dressed in the bathroom?
“You’re the one who keeps retaliating,” I point out. “And nothing is messy yet. Too bad you don’t like sweets. Flour doesn’t taste good and icing would be so much better to lick off.”
Brayden frowns. “We have to ice them too?”
