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“Is this some code I don’t know?” Cole’s dry voice has a calming effect, helping me center my thoughts.
“Library problems kept cropping up. That’s why I didn’t answer. Am I still invited to dinner?”
There’s a pause that carves into my heart, making it and my head ache. “You want to come?”
“Yes! If I meet your father, then I’ll know where you came from, and then you can’t be brooding and mysterious anymore.”
“I can still brood.”
“True. Unless your dad is some super upbeat guy who works as a chocolatier for a living. Then you can’t brood anymore. Anyone who grew up with an unlimited supply of chocolate has no right to brood.”
“What if he’s a pineapple farmer?”
“Oh my god. Is he? Did you break out in hives whenever he hugged you? I’m sorry. I take it back. You have unlimited permission to brood.”
There’s the sound of a reluctant chuckle weaving through our phone connection.
“He’s not a pineapple farmer, is he? You dirty liar. For that, no more biting for the rest of the year.”
“Summer,” he growls.
I grin to myself, loving this little sense of power I have over his pleasure. And over mine.
“You brought it on yourself, Cole Allemand. I’m going to bite so many things in front of you. Apples. Chips. Gum. Strangers on the street.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
“Hmm. Maybe next year.”
There’s a stretch of silence, and I can hear the tension radiating over the line. When he finally breaks it, there’s a delicious dark note in his voice.
“I’m going to bring you to the edge with my fingers and tongue so many times you’ll be begging to come. You’ll get so pissed at me you’ll want to scratch me up. You’ll want to bite me. And when you do, you’ll have the best orgasm of your life.”
Silence. Except for my heavy breathing. I’m panting, imagining what he just described. Dampness gathers between my legs, and I can feel my pulse beat in my clit.
“Damn you to the archives of hell, Cole.”
He laughs like the bastard he is. “Come over tonight.”
“Okay.”
“And come to dinner tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I think my quick agreements surprise him, but I’m honestly too horned up to deny him anything. After a hesitation, he responds with a smirk in his voice, “Get back to work, Summer.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I huff. Even though I do need to get back to work. Plus, I just let him tell me a bunch of other things to do without argument.
To maintain a sense of power, I hang up.
Okay, honestly, I hang up because I don’t feel capable of saying goodbye. I could spend the rest of my shift bantering with him. Plus, our conversation was quickly veering toward phone sex, which I just now decide is expressly forbidden while at work.
I must maintain some sense of professionalism.
It’s not until I’m out at the research desk, helping a woman look up information about college night classes, that I remember I had qualms about going to Christmas Eve dinner at Cole’s dad’s house.
When he retracted the offer, my heart went into panic mode.
