Page 73 of The Thought of You

“It was a house she gave me, after all, and I’m so unappreciative any time I suggest she and her friends clean up after themselves,” she clips, obviously repeating Rain’s words. “Does she think I like finding wicker sandals in the garbage disposal? No. I really don’t.”

“Adding that to my list of things not to do to you, although I didn’t know wicker sandals were a thing.”

“Me neither, until I fished them out piece by piece, along with a picture of a black cat.”

“Another asinine ritual, perhaps?”

“I didn’t ask.” She sighs. “I’ve thought about moving so many times, but I just can’t bring myself to sell that house.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the house I grew up in, but it’s more than that. It’s…” She traces her bottom lip with her teeth. “I guess I just want to make sure my mom always has a place to come home to, and that’s home for the both of us.”

Her voice is thick with vulnerability, and my throat constricts.

“How do you do that?” She leans back in her chair.

I pause with my hand hovering over my plate. “Do what?”

“You make me say things. You’re like a conversational ninja.”

“It’s a gift.” I bring a mozzarella stick to my mouth and practically eat the whole thing in one bite. I would have, anyway, had Addie not lurched forward, her hand outstretched and eyes wide.

“It’s too hot,” she warns. “Are you okay?”

I chew, which proves difficult with the large smile spreading across my face.

“You probably have third degree burns on your tongue.” She sits back, and I glimpse a dab of syrup on her chest.

When she leaned forward, her shirt must’ve dipped into the syrup on her plate, and now a stain the size of a quarter sets over her breast.

Instantly, filthy images of licking the sweet and sticky condiment off her naked tit slam into me like a punch to the gut.

I know what she tastes like, but I didn’t get to explore the rest of her body the other night. My muscles have never been so tight. My entire body is so hard I’m in pain.

The rest of my fried cheese does not go down easily as I use every ounce of strength to purge the thoughts from my mind.

She drives me crazy.

“You did burn your tongue, didn’t you? You’re so red.” She bunches a napkin in her hand and dabs the end of it in her water glass, then scurries around to my side.

I’m assaulted with her sweet scent as she brings the cool tip of the napkin to my cheek. “It’s cute when you worry about me,” I rasp.

“Someone has to,” she jokes, and it’s clear she has no idea how hard her seemingly innocent statement hits home.

“You should know…” I dip my gaze to her lips. “It’s not the food that’s hot.”

“What is it?” She retreats, but she doesn’t return to her side of the table yet.

I’m rewarded a few seconds longer with her close proximity, so I inhale extra whiffs of her perfume while I can. “It’s the syrup on your shirt.”

Addie glances down, but her expression is obstructed from my view by her short and wavy strands drawing a curtain around her face. “Great,” she mumbles and slowly steps back to her seat, swiping furiously at the spot with the wet end of the napkin she just used on my cheek.

And the scene—for whatever unholy, pathetic reason—turns me on even more. She’s gripping her breast, for fuck’s sake.

I’m a mere pitiful mortal.

I clear my throat and shift, wincing as the pain from my stiffy jolts me. “Please stop. You’re killing me,” I manage.

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