Page 63 of Riptide

The glint in his eyes tells me he’s teasing, and I’m gonna take that bet. I place my cup down and step up behind him, running my hands down his bare stomach, settling them on the tops of his boxer-clad thighs. “We still talking about pancakes?”

Melting against me, his head lolls onto my shoulder. “I was, but now I’m ready to abandon all of this for all of that,” he says, pushing back into my growing erection.

My fingers flex on instinct, and I growl into his neck, nipping the delicate skin. “Later, I need sustenance to keep up with you.”

Finn groans dramatically. “You’re the worst kind of tease.”

I bite down gently on his shoulder, just enough to make him shiver. “And you’re the one who got me hard while talking about pancakes, so really, who’s to blame here?”

He laughs, breathless, and leans forward to flip the pancake with a spatula this time. “Fine. Food first. Sex later. Like responsible adults.”

“Look at us.” I back off just enough to reach for my coffee. “So mature.”

“Yeah,” he says, sliding the pancakes onto a plate. “If by mature, you mean half-naked, semi-aroused, and unsupervised with a hot stove.”

I watch him drizzle syrup over the pancake, then he sets the plate in front of me with a little flourish. I pick up the fork, cut a bite, and try to keep my face neutral, because he’s watching every micro expression on my face and that’s slightly unnerving.

Popping a chunk into my mouth, I chew. The first thing I notice is that it’s not sweet like I expected. It’s got an unmistakable savoriness to it. Not just a little over-seasoned, but more like it’s heavily salted instead of sugared. The syrup softens the blow, but only just. I manage to swallow without comment, then meet his assessing eyes.

Finn’s face falls. “That bad?”

I guess I wasn’t as good of an actor as I was trying to be. “Not bad, just unexpectedly savory.”

His eyes widen as realization hits. “Shit.” He moves to the ingredients on the counter, until he gets to the bag of salt. “Oh, double shit, I used, like, 1/4 cup of salt instead of sugar.” He groans and buries his face in his hands, laughing at himself. “God, I was so proud of that fucking pancake too.”

I cut another bite.

He peeks through his fingers. “Wait. You’re actually eating more?”

“I said I needed sustenance,” I say simply. “Didn’t say I was picky.” I’ll just have to make sure I have nothing salty for the rest of the week, or the rest of my life, because my guy was liberal with it.

He watches me for a second, like he’s trying to figure out whether I’m serious or just humoring him. I don’t offer clarification. I just eat.

“You’re eating salted pancakes to make me feel better,” he says quietly, looking perplexed.

“I’m eating salted pancakes because you made them for me.”

There’s a pause, long enough that I finally look up from the plate. His expression has morphed from shock to something I can’t quite read. His mouth is still quirked up at the sides, though, so I cut another slice of the pancake.

“That’s kind of unfair,” he says, voice soft.

I swallow thickly, feeling the salt dry out my tongue. “What is?”

“You doing shit like that. Makes it really hard not to fall for you.”

The statement is said so easily, but it packs a punch I wasn’t expecting. My next mouthful has paused halfway in the air as I catch sight of his eyes. They’re delicate, the blue flickering brightly, but there’s no hesitation, nothing that indicates he mayhave accidentally let that slip. It’s way to fucking early for either of us to be thinking that way, and a little part of me thinks that maybe he said it for the shock factor, but still…I don’t speak. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because whatever it is wouldn’t come out right. Not now, while I’m still sitting here, with a fork in my hand, trying to figure out why my chest feels tight.

So instead, I take the bite.

Salt and all.

***

A little while later, we managed to fall back into bed, leaving the kitchen in a mess that would usually make my eyes twitch, but he’s been excellent at distracting me. He’s lying half on top of me now to one side, one leg hooked over mine, head tucked into the space beneath my jaw as I trace patterns over his back.

“So…I feel like I want to know more about Eugene.”

I hum, dragging my fingers gently through his hair.

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