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“You sure sound defensive about it.”
Pushing her hands onto my chest, she levels me with an assertive scowl that’s softened by the flush of her cheeks and the bite of her lip. “I am not and I have not.”
“Then how do you know it’s not for you?” I’m trying my hardest to keep my face straight at the concerned and confused expression that flickers over her face with the open and close of her mouth. “Well?”
“I thought you were going to feed me?” The question sounds panicked, like the conversation is very much out of her comfort zone.
While I’m enjoying watching her squirm, I’m not enough of an asshole to continue pushing the conversation. I’d rather drop it and let her agonize over it internally. Which I know she will, given how flustered she is when I push myself to my feet and head to the bar while Rosie rights herself on the couch. I pour her a glass of the white wine Maggie said she loves and myself a glass of strawberry and grapefruit lemonade.
I’m not sure what else Maggie packed for our lunch, but as I go through the fridge, there’s everything but ice cream or chocolate sauce. Reading over the sticky notes on each of the Tupperware, I decide it might be easier if I lay it all out on the bar and allow Rosie to pick what she wants. It seems a waste to make her a plate with things she won’t eat, and I don’t want her to feel like she has to eat something she doesn’t enjoy.
I’m almost done laying it all out when Rosie joins me, sitting on the opposite side of the bar. Fuck me, she’s a pretty picture that never fails to make me pause to admire it.
When I put the glass of wine in front of her, she gives me a soft sheepish smile. “It’s not my thing…I’ve never tried it and the whole subject makes me cringe. I just…yeah, no. Not for—”
“Not for me either,” I shrug, holding my smirk.
“Phew, you had me worried for a moment.” Taking a sip of her wine, she relaxes into the bar stool. “Although, it’s really fucking mean to leave me agonizing over it.”
“You brought it up.”
“Something had to make you stop tickling me.”
“It’s what you get for teasing me, sweetheart, I warned you about it last night. You tease me, and I’ll tease you worse.”
“Ugh, you’re an asshole,” she groans into her wine before taking another short sip.
“But you still have a crush on me.”
“Hmm…you’re not a Country Star, though.”
“I’m a fucking World Champion,” I grin back at her, holding her soft gaze as I round the bar and join her on the other side. Standing between her thighs, I brush her hair back from her face with a light nip to the tip of her nose. “World Champion trumps Country Star.”
“You sure about that?”
I smile, pulling back the smallest fraction so I can see all of her face when I tell her, “You are.”
“Dear Lord, Brody Spencer, you’re hella cocky,” she breathes, her eyes flashing down to my lips before darting back to mine.
“I’ve earned the right.”
“You’ve earned the right,” she repeats over my lips, inching closer with her thumbs tucking into the top of my shorts when her hands round my back.
“And you love it.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, you do.” I nudge her nose with mine, tipping her head back some more so that I have clear access to her lips. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t let me do this.”
The instant my mouth touches hers, Rosie’s breath hitches. The sound makes me smile before I lick into her mouth. While I don’t know the first thing about wine and never intend to find out, I know it tastes fucking incredible on her tongue. Tart and fresh, and so damn moreish that I can’t pull myself away.
I’m addicted to her. Incapable of stopping myself from going back for more. Again and again, and gasp after gasp, even though I know there’s only one way this ends. Addiction doesn’t have a happy ending. It leaves nothing but catastrophe in its wake.
Still, when I tear myself away, I feel no regret or remorse for the way my body aches to be close to hers again. There’s no guilt when I give in to the urge and move my barstool as close to hers as it can get. With her, I feel connected. Maybe a little grounded, too.
“I left the sticky notes on everything,” I tell her, trying to shake myself out of my head. Taking a long pull of my lemonade, I hand her a plate. “Maggie has a catering job tomorrow, and she had food to spare so…”
“You’re relaxing your diet,” she chuckles, watching me take another gulp of my drink before she adds, “But you’re still not drinking.”
