Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t suggesting we fry bugs in the wilderness,” Declan says when we reach the corner, stopping at the light.
My lips quirk up in a grin. “Have you seen Bear Grylls? I’m not sure he fries them. A lot of times he just takes them and pops them in his mouth and eats them raw. Sort of like candy. Wait.” I grab Declan’s arm, curling my hand around his bicep for effect, which is totally an excuse to curl my hand around his bicep. “Is that the kind of cooking class you signed us up for? Are we going to learn how to eat bugs like candy?”
Declan cracks up, then drapes his arm around me as we cross the street. “No. It’s sushi.”
“Ahh. You remembered my favorite cuisine.”
“We only order it half the time,” he says.
“But why the hell did you sign us up for something hard like sushi? You have more faith in me than you should. My skills are pretty much on the basic sandwich-making level.”
“Don't you want to graduate to advanced sandwich-making?”
“I love sandwiches, but not that much. I don't love them as much as I love sex or Lady Gaga or James Bond. Definitely not as much as baseball.”
“You better not like sandwiches more than sex,” Declan growls in warning. “But the sandwich tidbit you just dropped?” He taps his temple. “I’m filing it away in my Grant intel.”
I kiss his temple, then he stops me in my tracks on the street, curls a hand around the back of my head and seals his mouth to mine in an unexpected moment of street-side passion from my guy.
In one hot second, my temperature spikes as he sweeps his lips over mine, crushing my mouth in a searing kiss. Right on Market Street. At eight in the evening. As a trolley trundles by. As tourists stroll around us. As cars cruise along the road. Slinking an arm around his waist, I let out a shameless whimper as his lips devour mine.
Someone, somewhere, is taking a picture of us. I just know it.
And I love it.
After hiding our secret affair when we were teammates in spring training five years ago, then keeping it under wraps when we got back together in February and tested the waters of a relationship, it’s a welcome change to kiss him freely on the street.
It’s like a dream come true. I slide my other hand around his waist and our street kiss threatens to go full NSFW. I’m not sure I have the will to stop it, because Declan brushes his lips against mine with the same passion, the same fire we had the other night when he came home and had to fuck me after a game, the same passion he had after the dance club, the same lust he rained down on me the night we got back together.
How is it possible the passion doesn’t fade? Instead, it intensifies. Hell, our desire for each other feels exponential.
Declan finds the will to break the kiss. He breathes out hard. “Did that help your PDA kink?”
I look him in the eyes, grin salaciously. “Oh, yes. It did.”
“Good.”
I arch a brow, a little suspicious. “Is that why you did it? Just to satisfy me?”
He pushes his pelvis against me for a mere second, then pulls back. “Does it feel like you’re the only one who’s satisfied?”
“Mmm. How am I supposed to make it through a cooking class now?”
“I want you to know that the kiss wasn’t just for you—it was for me too. You should know, Grant, I also have a you kink, so it works out really well when I can make you happy.”
It works out so incredibly well that it takes my mind off the fact that we haven’t returned to our talk from a month ago in my car.
That we haven’t once touched on what all these next steps look like. We’re taking cooking classes, we’re domestic as hell sometimes, and we’re living this bold, incredible life.
But I still don’t know how far he wants it to go.
Or when he’ll let me know.
24
Grant
We’re an adorable rom-com montage. I bump his hip. He winks at me.
All I need is a peppy soundtrack as I swipe wasabi on his nose then flick my tongue and lick it off. Declan rolls his eyes, then smears some rice on my cheek. If the instructor weren’t busy with other students, we’d be in trouble.
But she is, so we goof off more.
We don’t eat anything we make. I mean, my sushi does not look appetizing. At the end of class, I brandish my avocado roll at my boyfriend, then make a sad sound as it falls over limply. “This is not a good phallic representation,” I whisper.
Declan leans in closer. “I’ve got a good phallic representation for you right here.” His eyes drift down to his jeans. “And I’m going to show you when we get home.”