Page 80 of The Guy in the Alley

He huffed and flicked a glance at the food. “Three people close to me know I love toaster waffles with whipped cream and strawberry preserves, and one of them asked me just yesterday if I had something going on with you.”

Goddammit, Angie.

Was nothing sacred anymore?

“If it makes you feel any better, I only checked your contacts,” I said. “And just your old burner, not the work phone where you might actually keep dating apps. I think I deserve some praise for not going through that.”

At least he cracked a grin and not my skull.

“You think stroking my ego with made-up jealousy is going to derail me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” I replied.

He shook his head in amusement and grabbed his coffee. “You’re the one with dating apps, kid. Not me.”

Whew. It was nice to have that confirmed.

“Not anymore.” I’d deleted them all. “I haven’t been with anyone since you fucked me six ways to Sunday in January.”

How was that for openness and honesty?

His coffee went down with an audible swallow, and he stared at the gifts. Kinda hard, too, like he was forcing himself to fix his attention there.

“I didn’t know birthdays involved torture in your family,” he said quietly. “Can we eat before I flip my shit?”

Oh, we were getting somewhere.

“Of course.” I stroked his thigh a little. “It’s your day. Open your gifts too. And don’t forget to make a wish when you blow out the candles.”

He released a breath and picked up his plate. Then he blew out the candles, and I could only wish his wish included me somehow. In a good way.

I had patience for the serious stuff, like our future together, but I absolutely hoped we could upgrade our dumbass friendship to include some benefits. Stat.

He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t affected. Tension rolled off him as he bit into his waffle, and he side-eyed me with a bit of whipped cream on his upper lip.

It would be so easy to lean in and lick?—

He cleared his throat and tipped his waffle at the gifts. “Which one do I start with, and why are there so many?”

Right. “Three isn’t many, and start with the smallest.” I began brushing my fingers up and down his thigh.

Perfect moment to realize he wasn’t wearing a tee. He usually slept in one, which was dumb. We should sleep naked and closer to the center of the bed.

He grabbed the smallest gift, and his mouth twitched with humor. Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. My gift-wrapping skills were flawless.

He had to tear it up a little, not unlike I wanted him to do with my ass.

Then he smiled when he saw it was a travel mug. He’d bitched at having to buy coffee when he was out working, and I was with him. Six or seven bucks for coffee? Fucking hell. It annoyed me every time, because you weren’t always close to a McDonald’s where you could get a decent cup at a more reasonable price. Dunkin’ worked occasionally too.

“This is perfect, Trace. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I leaned closer and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Medium-sized next.”

He took another deep breath and reached for the gift.

I shifted my hand to his back instead, and I ran my fingertips along his spine.

That earned me a shiver.

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