Page 100 of The Obsession
“Morning,” she chirps, and I grunt in response as I slide my cup under the spout, waiting for the espresso to trickle out. I need coffee, lots and lots of coffee.
“Where are we going today?” I ask, still annoyed she hasn’t told me.
I feel like my entire childhood was one long guessing game, so the whole surprise thing isn’t something I get a kick out of. I’m not a fan of the unknown. I’d rather be aware of what the hell I’m walking into.
“I told you it’s a surprise,” she answers with a beautiful smile.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweats because, for some reason, I’m tempted to reach out, pull her into my arms, and kiss that sweet fucking mouth of hers. “And I told you I don’t like surprises,” I grumble.
“You’ll like this one.”
“Will I?” I lift a brow because it would have to be something pretty spectacular for me to actually enjoy myself.
She winces, and a low growl crawls up my throat. “Okay, maybe not,” she quickly adds, “but Peach will. That’s the most important thing, right?”
“We better not be going dancing or some shit.”
She laughs. “No dancing, I promise,” she says, crossing her fingertip over her heart and being all adorable and shit.
“Good,” I mutter. “Because if you drag me to some parent/child yoga thing, or one of those pottery places where they make you paint a plate with your feelings, I’m out.”
She snorts. “No yoga or pottery therapy.”
“Or one of those goddamn butterfly gardens. I’m not getting dive-bombed by bugs the size of my hand.”
She shakes her head, smiling again. “No butterflies either.”
I tilt my head back and groan. “I’m running out of options here, Em, so you may as well tell me.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
When I catch the smug little grin curving her lips as she turns and reaches up for a mug, something in me snaps. I move in without thinking, stalking towards her. I place my hands on the countertop, on either side of her, caging her in.
I lean in and graze my nose along the length of her neck, devouring her scent. “Where are we going, cupcake?” I ask, my patience wearing thin.
I barely slept last night, and it had nothing to do with Fat Cat and everything to do with her, which is precisely why I’m feeling pissy this morning. I’m frustrated, horny, and my balls are bluer than her damn eyes.
She intakes a sharp breath but still doesn’t give me the answer I’m seeking. Instead, she stays perfectly still. “Talk to me, Em.” She moves her head just a fraction, and her long eyelashes flutter as she glances up at me. The faint curve of a smile tugs at her lips without her even realising it, and I want to kiss her so badly I ache inside. “You can’t help it, can you?”
“Can’t help what?” she asks, confused.
“Being irresistible. It just comes naturally, doesn’t it?”
She scoffs. “I’m hardly irresistible.”
I lift one of my hands, running the tip of my finger across her soft and dewy cheek. “I beg to differ,” I admit.
Her breath hitches in her throat as she leans into my touch. “You really find me irresistible?”
I smirk, letting my knuckle linger a second longer. “Yeah. Even when you look like a bargain basement ghost.”
“A bargain basement ghost?”
“With that shit on your face.”
“My face mask?”
“Yeah.”
