Page 92 of With Spite

She ran her finger along the shape of my lips. “I’ve been cheated on three times.”

I didn’t reply, only squeezed her tight.

“I don’t want to ever go through that again, Hux,” she admitted. “If that’s where you lean, I’d rather know now.”

I placed her on the counter and bracketed her legs with my hands.

“I’d never do that to you, Bernice,” I promised. “Plus, I don’t like many people. Women included. That sounds like a nightmare. Not only because it would be wrong, but because your brother would castrate me, then deep fry my balls and eat them.”

She wrinkled her nose up at me in disgust.

“I was only waiting for the right woman to come around.” I smoothed my hand up the length of her thigh, causing her skirt to ride up slightly thanks to my calluses catching on the fabric.

“And you think you found her with me?” she asked vulnerably.

“I know I did,” I said. “Who else is going to put up with me treating her like crap for the first few months that I knew her? Then bring me birthday cupcakes when I didn’t tell her my birthday and help me cut up meat when we both know that you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it,” she lied.

I leaned in and ran my lips along the pounding pulse at her neck. “No? Then why did you curl your nose up in distaste when you saw that baby lamb in my meat locker?”

“Because it was a baby.” She rolled her eyes.

I winked. “And when you saw me cutting the skin off that elk a few months ago?”

“He had really soft brown eyes.” She shrugged. “And he was cute.”

I chuckled. “See, you do hate it, but you do it for me. But that’s part of why I like you so much.”

“And as for not sharing with you about my birthday, I don’t celebrate it. Ever,” she admitted. “My birthday was a constant guilt trip. At first, my mother made me feel bad every time Creed had to remind her that it was my birthday. She always bought me a small cake from McDonald’s. Acted like I asked her to rip out her heart for me. Then, when it was just Creed and me, Creed had to work his ass off to get us essentials. When my birthday rolled around, he’d go without to make sure I had something to celebrate. I don’t know. It’s just a pain in the ass.”

I hummed and backed up, pulling the fridge open. “So you don’t want this chocolate cake that I got?”

Her eyes gleamed. “Cake?”

“Maybe next year we can celebrate our birthdays together. Quietly.”

She leaned forward. “How’d you know that I liked chocolate cake?”

“Because I’ve never seen you without something chocolate in the months that you’ve lived here.” I shrugged. “It was a lucky guess.”

I’d seen her order this very chocolate cake by the slice several times in my stalking escapades.

Of course she would like the whole damn cake.

I pulled out the container and set it on the counter. “Though I think you like it warm, right?”

“The only way to eat it,” she breathed as she looked into the box. “What’s all that on the top?”

“Chocolate syrup,” I answered. “I told them to add extra chocolate to it. So there’s this chewy fudge center, chocolate syrup, then the chocolate icing.”

She licked her lips. “I could eat it cold.”

I chuckled. “We’ll let it warm up on the counter while we do other things.”

“Other things?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said as I pulled her back into my arms. “Ones that’ll get our heart rate up and the calories burning so we can eat the cake guilt-free.”