Page 46 of The Dating Pact

I stepped through the door, mentally chiding myself for the ridiculous notion that she’d been in a bad mood because of our text exchange. Like she was jealous or something.

But that was dumb.

There was no way she was jealous. We were doing this whole dating thing together. If she was in a bad mood, it certainly wasn’t because of me and my date.

Inside, Brooke stood at the kitchen counter, compiling a sandwich, layering turkey, lettuce, and tomato, her lips pursed as if chewing on the inside of them. She did that when she was annoyed.

“Hi,” I said, and she jumped, whirling on me with a crimped brow before her features softened when she realized it was me.

“Hey.”

So, okay, maybe she was in a bad mood.

“Gunner said you were, uh…”

She eyed me. Fire in her brown eyes.

I changed tack. “Hard day?”

She slapped a piece of bread on the top of her sandwich and lifted it to her mouth, biting into it. “Not particularly. Just hangry.”

I accepted her answer and helped myself to making my own sandwich then put everything back in the fridge. After nabbing a root beer, I followed her outside to take a seat around the closed fire pit.

Once we both finished eating our dinner, I broached the subject again. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“The reason you have pinchy mouth.”

“Pinchy mouth?” she repeated, obviously trying not to do the pinchy mouth.

“You say I get a wrinkle between my eyebrows.” I tapped her lips. “Well, you get pinchy mouth.”

She swatted at my hand, jerking her head back, but I curled my hand around her neck so she couldn’t get away. She froze, eyes wide, pinchy mouth gone.

In its place were soft and welcoming lips, pink and parted. The taste of them was still seared in my memory, and I forced myself to let go of her, giving both of us space.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

She grimaced. “Don’t say the word panties.”

“Why not?”

“It’s in the same category as randy and horny.”

I leaned my elbow on my chair. “This list is getting to be quite long. What other words are on it?”

“Moist.”

“What’s wrong with moist? How else am I supposed to describe my brownies?”

She tugged the elastic out of her hair, shaking out the long tresses. “It’s fine in the baking sense, but not in the sex sense.”

“Okay, no moist panties. Got it.”

She met my gaze, her usual good mood back in place, her smile perfectly crooked, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Be right back.”

She made her way to the house, and by the time I’d polished off my root beer, she returned with a small joint, already lit. She passed it to me and sat back down. “So, Melissa…”

---