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“Thank you,” I say as our hands brush together and the zap of electricity that appears whenever he gets close that I’ve actively been ignoring jolts straight to my heart. I cough, trying to clear the buzzing feeling flooding my body before stabbing the cake probably a little too hard with a toothpick.
“Perfect,” I say when the toothpick comes out clean.
“Why do you need toothpicks to tell you if a cake is perfect? I could’ve told you that.” He cocks his head, looking like a confused puppy.
“If the toothpick comes out with batter on it, then you know the cake isn’t cooked. Well, that’s what my mum told me.”
“I’ve never seen it before, but then this is the first time I had a hand in making a cake rather than just eating it.”
“Have I just taken your cake making virginity, Grayson?” I taunt.
He smiles and my pitter-patter heart skips a beat. “Consider my cherry popped.”
My hand flies to my chest. “I’m honoured.”
“Can we eat it yet?” he asks, his face beaming with excitement.
“I have ice cream we can put with it.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what this needs, Oh fuck, fuck, hot,” he says as he quickly swallows and gasps through the first mouthful of cake that he’s helped himself to straight from the tin.
“So impatient,” I mumble as I pull out the ice cream from the freezer and stand there for a second to allow my cheeks to cool the fuck down, reminding myself that Grayson being cute and sweet is just all part of the yes day. It’s not permanent.
“Only impatient for things that are delicious,” he says playfully. My head snaps up from the freezer and when I look at him, he winks devilishly, leaving all sorts of implications in my head as I plate up two slices of cake.
Twenty minutes later and I’m so full of chocolate and ice cream I want to lie down for the foreseeable.
“Right, come on. We’ve got somewhere to be,” he jumps up with far too much energy.
I groan, my stomach fully protesting at any movements. “No.”
His eyebrows raise as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. I definitely do not look at the veins popping between his tattoos. Nope. “Did you just break the rule?”
I throw my head back dramatically. “Fine. Yes. Lead the way.”
Thisyesbusiness only makes me realise how much I like saying no. Or maybe I just really like having free will.
“That’s my good girl.” He drops his voice an octave, and it makes me shiver, but I cover it up by rushing out of the kitchen and putting my coat on.
“Ready!” I shout, mustering up the most amount of cheeriness I can, ignoring my stupidly perky nipples beneath my jumper.
He appears in the hallway with a far too cocky smirk, as he grabs his keys and coat, and we head to his car. Except when the chill of the air hits me in the face, I realise he doesn’t have his car; he has a motorbike. It’s not huge, but it looks expensive, black shiny, sexy, but all kinds of terrifying too. “I have to get on that?”By ‘that’ I mean the bike, not the six foot four man standing next to it… clearly.
“Are you about to say no again?”
My feet stomp with my own irritation for writing this stupid list in the first place and agreeing to have him help me. Although,agreemaybe isn’t right word.Forcedis more accurate. “This is getting old already.”
“It’s so fun for me, though.” He passes me a helmet and leather jacket before putting his own on. The thought of other women riding behind him on his bike, wearing these items, rushes into my brain, but I push it away before I can obsess. I slide the helmet onto my head, and his hand fastens and adjusts the strap around my chin. His touch shouldn’t make me tingle, but it does. “When you’re on my bike, I’m responsible for you being safe,” he says matter of factly, when all I can do is swoon internally and hope he really can’t see my face that well through and the visor.
He kicks up the kickstand, his hands flexing against the handles, and the effect that movement has on my body is utterly carnal. Grayson climbs onto the bike effortlessly, settling immediately and turning to face me. How did he do that so smoothly? I know I’m going to fumble like an absolute clown getting on this thing. He winks and a zap of white hot heat travels along my skin. I tell myself that my reaction is because of the bike. Definitely the charm of the bike, and not him.
“You coming, shorty?”
If only.
I move towards him tentatively, wondering how to maintain any sliver of decorum whilst mounting this shiny beast. Inhaling deeply, I decide to just go for it and fling my leg over the seat, griping his shoulders as I move. When I settle with a thud behind him, I quickly realise that I have no idea where to put my hands.
“Uhh, where do I hold on?” I yell through the helmet, removing my death grip on his shoulders.
