Page 18 of Booked on You
When she’s out of sight, I realize I’m holding my breath.
I wipe my hands on the towel and stare at the empty stretch of yard like she might come back into view.
Somehow, without meaning to, she took the afternoon with her.
As I stare out into the garden, the ripe blackberries hanging low on their vines snag my attention. I grab a bucket and make my way to the bushes, needing something to keep my mind busy.
Aunt Millie loves making cobbler with them. I spend an hour picking berries, trying not to let the stickers snag me. Some of them are so ripe, they burst between my fingers. I even pop a few in my mouth, enjoying the sweet juice on my tongue, then spit out the seeds. They’re the only part I hate.
Once I’ve cleared the vines of the ripe ones, I return to the house. On the way, I run into Scarlett.
Her eyes trail down to my hand. She leans forward, her brows lifting when she sees the blackberries that are still warm from the sun.
“You picked those?”
“Along the back fence line by the garden,” I tell her, pointing in that direction.
Scarlett moves back to sitting on the edge of the porch. Her notebook and pen are in her lap.
“Want to try one?”
She looks up at me with big doe eyes and smiles. Somehow, it’s flirtatious and makes my heart do a pitter-patter. I tilt the bucket toward her.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” she asks hesitantly.
I chuckle. “If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
I snag one, lifting it to my lips and biting it in half. Then I reach forward, moving it to her mouth. She opens her lips and allows me to feed it to her.
Her eyes swirl with something as she chews and swallows. “Mm. Delicious.”
The tension is sharp enough to slice straight through me.
“I’d say so,” I mutter, wishing I could taste the juice on her lips. She picks up her recorder, keeping intense eye contact.
“And then he placed a berry in her mouth, and she was tempted to suck his fingers, wanting him to understand what he’s missing. But that would be too risky,” she says, stopping her recorder.
I cock my head at her. “Are you narrating your life?”
“Only when inspiration calls,” she says, sipping her tea. “You’ve got main character energy, though. Strong brooding energy. Top-shelf scowl. A-plus forearms. Bad boy tattoos. But I know there’s this other side to you, too. One you haven’t shared with me yet. That’s the Ezra I want to know.”
I hand her a blackberry, palm open, mostly to shut her up.
Her brows pop upward. “You’re not going to feed it to me again?”
Scarlett straightens her back and opens her mouth.
“Fuck,” I whisper, hearing the growl in my voice.
Scarlett notices, too, and I watch a smirk slide across her lips as I move closer to her, grabbing the blackberry and placing it in her mouth. This time, her lips wrap around my fingers, and her cheeks hollow.
My cock springs to life, and I push the thoughts away as I pull my fingers from her mouth.
“You don’t want to play games with me, Scarlett.”
“Mm. You don’t get to tell me what I want,” she snaps back.
There’s a stretch of silence that continues on while we stare at one another.
