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“Thank you. Bed.” The dog lets out a lazy rumble, sniffing Connor’s hand as he lowers it to his side, before trotting back to his bed in the corner. “Good boy.”
“You mean me, sunshine?” Connor gives me a grin that’s all bad boy on his handsome face and traps me against the high counter of the island, arms planted on either side. A thrill shoots through my stomach. He buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. “Mm, you smell like fresh baked cookies.”
“Well, that’s what I’m making. And no, you’re not a good boy.” I smack his hand as he tries to steal a cookie from the cooling rack. “Those are for the French club.”
“But I’ve got the munchies, and your baking is the best.” Pointing to the dog, he wrinkles his brow. “You named your dog after me? Something you want to tell me? Like a crush you’ve been nursing on your sexy neighbor for years?”
“Wipe that smug look off your face. His name is Constantine, not Connor.” I
go back to cutting my dough with my set of Paris-themed cookie cutters while Connor goes over to the dog, petting him. When I look back up a few minutes later, he has Constantine on his back, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he gives him a belly rub. “Traitor.”
Connor chuckles and returns to my side, sneaking pieces of cookie dough scraps as I get the next batch in the oven.
“What are you doing in here, anyway? It’s late.”
Connor shrugs. “Saw your light on. Missed my girl.”
He shoots me a charming smile, but a tightness lingers around his eyes. I offer him a cookie from the sad pile, and his expression turns more genuine as he takes a bite.
“Oh, god, yes.” Connor moans, wrapping me in his arms as he chews. “So good. You should totally make special brownies. We’ll get baked and it’ll be delicious.”
I snort, wriggling out of his arms to get started mixing another batch of dough to pop in the refrigerator before I take out the dough currently chilling.
“What are you doing up so late? You said goodnight two hours ago.”
I shrug as I measure out the ingredients into a big mixing bowl. “Couldn’t sleep. Baking helps clear my head.”
“I know something else that’ll help you sleep,” Connor says, planting himself behind me, teasing my arms with tickling touches. He runs his nose up and down the back of my neck, distracting me. His tongue swipes across my skin and he presses his hips against mine so I can feel him, drawing a gasp from me. “Works like a charm.”
“I have to finish these.”
“Can I help?” Connor picks up the rolling pin, wielding it like a sword instead of a baking tool.
“Here, you can mix this.” I set him up with one of the bowls and start another so I can chill more dough at once.
We work in comfortable quiet for a while. Having Connor here is nice, like I’m letting him into my haven, but he’s more of a hindrance than actual help. He keeps stealing kisses and eating the dough, and he’s much messier than I am. But his muscles come in handy for mixing, since the one thing I don’t have is a standing mixer. I’m having a good time with him anyway as we murmur over batches of rolled out dough.
I like this. I like who Connor is here, in the moonlight. He’s more real with me alone in the dark, but at school he’s still the vicious king of secrets the students and teachers fear. Knowing what I do about his family situation, I think I understand why he’s so hell-bent on being the keeper of people’s deepest secrets. But I hope he’ll drop that wall someday, to share this Connor with the world.
The one who paints Nutella on my cheek so he can hold my face while he licks it off, making my heart flutter with joy.
While we’re working, he keeps making vulgar things with the excess dough scraps—boobs, a dick, the poop emoji. He makes me laugh so hard I have to crouch down and muffle my amusement so Mom doesn’t hear and come to investigate. Constantine watches our antics from his bed, his deep brown eyes dancing back and forth between us.
As I’m rolling out the next dough, this one a chocolate shortbread I plan to dip in white chocolate, Connor smacks my ass with flour-covered hands.
“Hey!” Holding my arms up, I twist to find a big flour handprint on my black workout shorts. “I’m so getting you back for that.”
“Can’t be helped. You’ve got these hot little booty shorts on.”
“You have no self restraint. Just a one-track mind.”
With a chuckle, Connor jumps out of reach when I swipe at him with the flour from the bowl by my rolling station. I hunt him around the island and he flashes me a sneaky look as I make my move, trapping me in his arms before I can dump flour down his shirt.
“Got you,” he murmurs before kissing me.
I shift around in his arms to kiss him properly, our tongues sliding together. He kisses the curve of my smile, unsuspecting until I smash flour in his hair.
“What the—” Connor’s eyes are wide in shock as I choke on my victorious laughter. “Okay, Kennedy. I see how it is.”
