Page 45 of This I Promise You
“You don’t like it?”
I shake my head and crinkle my nose. His shoulders slump a little, but I’m not going to lie to him.
“So lemon’s a no go,” he says.
“Yeah, no. Not really into the strong fruity smells despite mycitruscologne, I guess,” I tell him. I’m more into the deep musky scents, like the way Paul made my car smell when he got in it, that combination of leather and sage I can’t get out of my nose, and don’t want to. “I’m more…woodsy?”
“Woodsy.” Paul points at me and nods, like he’s committing it to memory.
“And ocean scents.”
“Got it.”
“Come on.” I nod out of the tent, and before I can get a few steps, Paul’s hand grasps my forearm.
“Funnel cakes!” There’s an excitement in his voice, like a kid who just saw Santa for the first time.
I meet his eyes. They’re open wide, excited, an ocean of roiling sea-green waves. In that moment he’s not just hot and handsome, he’s adorable and I want to pull him close and breathe him in so badly.
“Oooh.” I make a little O with my lips.
“Come on, we’ve gotta.” He drags me along by my arm.
Paul
Funnel Cakes and Dirty Thoughts
I grab his arm—it’s not his hand, but it’s the next best thing. It’s like, now that our first “unofficial” date is out of the way, there’s something about him that relaxes me. Like…like I feel at home. I don’t know, but I’m really enjoying his company. So I grab his arm and drag him to the funnel cakes.
“Pleasetell me you have a sweet tooth?” I do try to eat healthy, but fuck it. I trade a ten for a funnel cake for us to share. “I cannotresist a good funnel cake. Or corn dogs. Or Red Vine licorice.”
“Hell yes! Peanut butter and chocolate. Anything strawberry.”
“Powdered sugar?” I swipe my finger along the top of our newly acquired dessert treat and hold out a finger of powdered sugar for him to taste.
His eyes go wide for a millisecond and I realize what I’m asking him to do, but I’m not about to show him I didn’t think it through.
“My hands are clean, promise,” I say, and that’s apparently enough. He leans in and takes my finger into his mouth, never breaking eye contact the entire time.
“Definitely powdered sugar.”
“I—” Okay, I really didn’t mean for that to be sexual. It was supposed to be a cute gesture, but the way he just licked my finger? Oof. I don’t know what to— Um… “Wanna sit and split it?”
“Sure.”
It’s weird because I remember his country accent from when he was drunk, but it’s so subtle in his day-to-day I can hardly tell it’s there. But when he said “sure” just now it was very much there and it makes me weak. He’s the exact opposite of me, yet I say y’all more than him. Balance, I guess.
We move to a nearby picnic table and sit across from each other. Easton looks like he’s cold even with his jacket and I wish there was something I could do to help, but I’m not wearing a jacket. I’m fine because I normally run hot, so the cold doesn’t really bother me. I’d wrap him in a hug if I could trust my anxiety not to be a bitch, but it is.
“So…do you like…sports?” Easton asks, and I have no idea wherethatcame from.
“Ew, the hell. What makes you think I like sports?”
“Your Lakers t-shirt.” Easton angles his head. “The one you…the one I borrowed.”
“Oh, that! No, that’s just for style. I liked the look of the shirt so I bought it.” I shrug while I rip another piece from the funnel cake. I stuff it in my mouth and wipe my hands together to get off the powder. “I don’t give a shit about sports. My two older brothers played. Trevor was into baseball, Jace soccer. My little sister is in gymnastics, but me and my little brother, Felix, couldnotcare less.”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, nibbling on a piece of funnel cake. “So you have four siblings?”
