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I eyed the fruit, then him, but his expression stayed stonewalled. We were moving into dangerous territory, and something needed to give before things turned personal.
We needed to get back to fluffy, flirty, and sharing pastries. “Still not pathetic enough to deserve the last strawberry, but I’ll split it with you.”
I took the strawberry from the bowl with my fingers and brought it to my lips, holding it between my teeth and biting off half. Ah, there. The color in his eyes changed, turning back to slate gray as I leaned closer and held the strawberry to his lips. He grabbed my wrist so his thumb was on my pulse point and took the fruit from my fingers. His lips engulfed my thumb and pointer finger, and he bit down, making me gasp and pull back.
“Delicious. Strawberries are my favorite,” he said, taking the last plate to finish the remaining cream puff filling, his voice back to sounding like melted caramel. He furrowed his brows, reaching into his back pocket to take out his phone. Grimacing at the screen, he cursed and dropped the fork on the plate with a snarl. “I have to go. Give me your phone.”
I unlocked it and passed it over before realizing what I’d done and reaching for it back. He ignored me, fingers flying across the screen, then set it on the table a minute later. “I texted myself so you’d have my number. This conversation isn’t over.”
He picked up his sunglasses, put them on, and patted his pockets to check for his keys and wallet in the universal guy gesture.
“And Pop Rock,” he said, leaning down so his face was inches from mine and pushing his glasses down the bridge of his nose. “You still smell fucking delicious.” He left me at the table with my mouth gaping, watching his tight ass as he confidently walked out the door. Before it closed, he turned around, like he knew I’d be watching him, and winked.
