Page 121 of All Twerk, No Play

That familiar glare appeared. God, I loved that glare. “Seriously, Cruz. Give me my panties.”

I leaned against the bathroom counter. “It’s my birthday, and I want my final surprise to be you, at my party, surrounded by all our friends … bare.”

“I —” Her face flushed the most beautiful shade of pink. “Cruz, you really…?”

“I want to know that your panties are in my pocket and my cum is dripping down your thighs,” I said, watching her lips part and her pupils blow out, before I leaned close to speak against her lips, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

“That’s what I want, but if you’re not comfortable with it …” I pulled the panties out of my pocket and held them out on a flat palm.

Her hand hovered over mine, considering my dare. “Just when I think I’m caught up on your fantasies …” She lifted her chin, then closed my hand around her panties.

“When it comes to you, I’ve got an endless supply,” I said, although they were becoming less like fantasies of an unattainable ideal woman, and more like dreams of an incredible future I could see with her.

Because I was head over heels in love with her.

And when her mouth lifted into that confident smirk, I decided to throw all caution to the wind. It was my birthday, and she’d worked her ass off for all these surprises. So why not tell her?

I leaned in closer, kissed her gently, and said, “Because Victoria, I —”

Banging on the door jolted us apart. “Jesus Christ, you two,” Mallory said. “It was supposed to be a quickie.”

Victoria’s cheeks flushed again, this time from embarrassment. I kissed her on the forehead, tucked her panties into my jeans pocket, vowed to find a way to tell her soon, and followed her back to my birthday party.

"Head Over Feet," Alanis Morrisette

Tori

Myarmsshookwithexhaustion as I washed my hair—maybe I should have stopped at 20 push-ups instead of fighting for the final three, but the payoff had been worth it. I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my chest, wanting to finish my morning routine quickly and devour whatever Cruz was cooking, because the scent of frying garlic wafting in from the kitchen made my mouth water.

I reached into the vanity for my blowdryer and frowned at an unopened box of tampons. And beside them was … bubble bath? Confused, I tightened the towel beneath my armpits, my stomach twisting with hunger as I carried the boxes to the kitchen. “What are these?”

Cruz’s heated gaze swept over my freckled skin before noticing the items. “Oh, I saw the empty tampon box in the recycling and figured you’d need more. And since you might be crampy soon, I thought a long bath might help.” He pivoted to the pantry and pulled a bag of chocolate-covered gluten-free pretzels off the top shelf. “Got these in case you crave something salty too. You liked this brand on our trip.”

He turned back to the stovetop to stir mushrooms and peppers as I inspected the boxes, trying to make sense of the unexpected twisting in my gut.

I’d synced my calendar with Alex for nearly a decade but he’d never noticed my cycle. And Spencer had taken me on a two-week luxury honeymoon to Paris and paid a fortune for a tennis bracelet that always snagged on my keyboard, but he’d never once bought me my favorite pretzels.

When Cruz saw me frozen in place, a crease formed between his brows, and he reached for the boxes. “Did I buy the wrong brand? You usually choose nicer skincare brands, but I saw the bubble bath at Price Chopper and thought—”

“I lo—” I said, my voice hoarse. “I love it.”

When I realized the words I almost spat out, my knees went weak.

“Are you sure?” he said, placing the boxes on the counter and bringing his comforting arms to my waist to steady me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said in slight disbelief. The flurry in my stomach intensified, making me realize that the unsettled feeling wasn’t hunger pangs … it was butterflies.

Holy shit. After having my heart crushed, I thought I was too broken and cynical to fall in love again. But as Cruz talked about bubble bath and tampons, I couldn’t deny it any longer.

I was in love with Eric de la Cruz.

“Because I can return it,” he said, scanning my face with those concerned brown eyes I loved. “Tell me which one you want instead and I’ll run to Sephora to …”

I couldn’t follow, only watch his lips move. Lips that had worshiped every inch of my skin, lips that had serenaded me with endless melodies. Lips that I never wanted to stop kissing.

I smiled, making him do the same. Fuck, I loved his smile, too. How had it taken me this long to recognize it?

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