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“Who doesn’t love a woman who orders bacon?”
Fuck me. I did not just say that out loud.
Tanya walks away, leaving Payton and me to sit in silence.
“How long have you been volunteering?” She breaks the still air with her question.
“A few years.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Nope.”
Mature.
Her brows furrow. “Can you ever just answer a question honestly?”
“No.”
I could, but this is more fun. Like I said . . . mature.
Payton leans forward, her elbows now resting on the table. She places her chin in her hands. “Is there a reason for that?”
She’s analyzing me. Trying to understand what makes me tick.
If only it were that easy.
I’m all types of fucked up. Ain’t that right, big guy?
My head tips up to the sky as if he can hear me better at this angle.
“Yes,” I finally say.
“Are you going to tell me said reason?” she presses, pulling out a packet of brown sugar from a sticky white box, emptying it on the table, and playing with the mess.
Lowering my gaze, I meet her stare. “Negative, Ghostrider.”
“You’re intolerable.” She grins, and I love the way it looks on her.
“Absolutely.”
She looks frustrated from across the table, but that last smirk is still there, and I can’t help but enjoy it. I love messing with her. I love getting a rise out of her. I’m surprised when she continues to fire off questions. She’s not surprised when I continue to vaguely answer.
Until the food gets there.
Then I’m rewarded with a soft moan that falls from her lips.
Just that one little squeak, and my cock stirs to life.
Watching her eat pancakes is turning me on.
Who the fuck am I?
I don’t say a word further. I can’t be thinking this kind of shit. I don’t even trust myself to speak. Not with my little comment earlier.
I eat my pancakes; she eats hers.
That’s when I see him making his approach. He’s by the front door. He must have followed us.
