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Pretty soon, I have a piece of pie on my plate. I didn’t say I wanted any, but Wade serves me a slice anyway. Maybe he wants to test me to see if I’ll actually eat my own cooking. You know, just in case I baked arsenic or whatever into it.
I take a bite first, and it’s not too bad. I give myself two big thumbs up because I pretty much suck at cooking. Whatever, I live alone after all. What reason do I have to cook anything, especially when cereal for dinner is just so satisfying?
Wade consumes the pie like a freaking vacuum and helps himself to a second slice. Maybe I gave myself heatstroke while I was baking because all of a sudden, I’m saying really embarrassing things, and I can’t seem to stop myself.
“I have a confession to make. I actually thought you might be part of the mob.”
Wade’s fork freezes. His forehead creases into a frown, and his dark brows knit together until they’re nearly touching. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
I set my fork down on my plate. I can’t look at Wade, so I just look at what’s left of my piece of pie. My shame level is off the charts. I don’t know why I decided I needed to put that cosmic piece of information out there into the universe, but now I feel like an epic idiot.
“I thought you were part of the mob or that you were doing something shady in here.”
“Why would you think that?”
God, he sounds so appalled. “I don’t know, maybe because I saw plastic wrap all over your living room. Also, whenever you go out, you’re dressed in all black, and then I saw you hauling rolled-up rugs into your backyard.”
There is so much tense silence following my statement that I can practically hear the static in the air snapping between us. All of a sudden, Wade lets out a bark of surprised laughter. Once he gets going, he doesn’t stop either. It just keeps coming, and pretty soon, I’m laughing too. It feels good to let all the tension drain away.
“Oh, god. That’s a good one. I’ll have to save that one to tell my parents. They’ll get a kick out of it.”
“No! Please don’t tell them.”
“I have to.” Wade slaps his knee. I glance up in time to see him wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.
“I thought you were actually going to try and like… maybe… kill me that day when you found me in here.” I might as well confess all of it now since I’m on a freaking roll.
“Kill you? No. That’s not me.” Something changes in Wade’s voice. It gets a little deeper, a little huskier. “Kiss you, maybe.”
“What?”
“Kiss you. If that’s alright?”
Is it alright? Yes, it’s definitely freaking alright. Wait! No! No, it’s not alright! This guy is my neighbor, but he’s still pretty much a stranger, and he might be sketchy in other ways. Plus, he’s not sticking around. I already know that. He’s going to be gone once this house is renovated.
Today is a day for bad decisions, apparently, so I just nod.
Wade leans across the table. His hand is warm, his fingers rough and calloused against my jaw. They feel like raspy, sandpapery heaven, and my eyes shut immediately. I should be pulling away. Running. Looking for another spatula or whatever to fend him off with.
Instead, I lean forward too and let him tilt my chin up, and then…
Then his woodsy, spicy scent gets even closer.
His body heat fills up the space between us.
And his warm, blueberry tasting mouth slants over mine.
CHAPTER 13
Wade
At first, Lu-Anne is hesitant. She’s a little stiff, but then she leans forward, melting into me. I think I might be leaning into my second piece of pie. There’s a good chance it might be all over the front of my shirt, but that’s okay. I’m willing to sacrifice my shirt for this.
For Lu-Anne’s lips. Her sweet, blueberry tasting, sugary lips. Soft. Her lips are so freaking soft. I realize this is the worst thing I can possibly do for my cover right now, but it’s just a kiss.
Shit, no. It’s not just a kiss. There’s no way I can describe this as just a kiss.
Our mouths are now smoldering, locking together. It’s hot. It’s more than hot. It’s also deep in the kind of way that when you kiss someone, you want to keep kissing them forever until your lips fall off or you die of old age—that kind of forever.
I can’t handle just kissing her across the table.
Our mouths are still locked when I move. I sweep Lu-Anne out of her chair. She lets out a little gasp, but it’s the only sound she makes before I haul her up against me. She claws at my shoulders, desperately pulling my face back down to hers.
