Page 83 of Star-Crossed
Jasper’s grin was all dimples. “Let’s see.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, surveying the display. “If you’re looking for something mellow, I’d suggest the Cannabliss—it’s an indica-based chocolate cupcake with lavender frosting. Or, if you prefer something a little more uplifting, the Pineapple Express is pretty rad. It’s a sativa-hybrid pineapple and coconut cupcake with lemongrass frosting.”
Lyra turned to Cy, her eyes lighting up. “What do you think?”
I think I’m in love with you.
“Uh, Pineapple Express, I guess?” he said.
“We’ll take two,” Lyra added.
“Boss.” Jasper ducked below the counter and carefully handed them each a cupcake. “Let love in.”
Too fucking late.
“Wow,” Lyra said around a mouthful. “This is actually really, really good.”
Cy nodded his agreement. The cake was tender, the frosting melt-in-your-mouth buttery, the herbaceous kick of the extract barely detectible. “Dangerously good,” he said after he’d swallowed.
“I think I must have had low blood sugar or something.” Lyra peeled back another section of the wrapping. “That, or my brain is still recovering from lack of oxygen after being held upside down while wearing a corset.” She tugged at one side of the laces.
“Sorry about that,” Cy said before taking a big bite of his own. “I panicked.”
Lyra shook her head, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. “I guess we’ll have to train harder next time.”
Next time.
The implications of those words hit Cy like a freight train.
God, he wanted there to be a next time. And a time after that.
But half the shit she said was teasing. How could he even know?
“Agreed,” he replied with a mock-serious nod. “How can we expect to win when we didn’t even have a proper training montage?”
“Training montage?” Lyra licked frosting from her fingers and wadded the wrapper.
Cy took it from her and added his own, tossing both into a nearby receptacle at the edge of the crowd.
Without consciously meaning to, they’d begun to wander away from the crush, which suited Cy absolutely fine.
“You know. Dramatic shots of me running and doing push-ups while you sit on my shoulders shouting at me and some kind of testosterone-inducing jock jam plays in the background.”
“Oh, I’ll sit on you, all right.” She’d just gotten close enough to hook a finger through one of his leather belt loops when her purse began to buzz once again.
The tension tightening her features was immediately visible.
“Go ahead,” Cy said, swallowing his own discomfort. “Answer it.”
Their eyes met, and she knew that he knew.
“I’m so sorry. He’s been calling all day,” Lyra said, digging through her purse. “Let me just tell him off so he’ll leave me alone.”
They found a secluded spot beneath a large oak tree, the gnarled branches casting a network of eerie shadows on the ground. Lyra hesitated for a moment before hitting the speaker button on her phone, giving Cy an almost apologetic look.
“This is Lyra,” she said in a clipped tone.
“Finally.”
Cy felt his fists clench involuntarily at the sound of Harrison’s voice. It was hard to reconcile that smooth, cultured tone with the damage he knew it had inflicted upon the woman who made him feel murderously protective.
