Page 42 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

Monty’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. “Pity.”

Then he releases me, but not before snatching my hand and waffling our fingers together.

“So what are we having?” He points at the display of food in front of us. “One of everything?”

“I shouldn’t.”

Monty’s teasing expression slips, and his eyes burn into mine. “Why?”

I shrug, not wanting to say anything further. “I’ll take a hot apple cider.”

Monty stares at me for another beat before turning to face the group of ladies.

“I’ll do a hot chocolate,” he tells them. “And can you also give me one of those cinnamon churros and a popcorn, please?”

“You don’t want a churro, too?” my mother asks me.

Monty is the one to answer, “Oh, my girl and I are going to share.”

My stomach swoops. While a good girl always makes me hot under the collar, a well-placed my girl is my ultimate catnip.

Jake Montgomery is better at this game than I expected. Shit.

Chapter 16

Monty

“So if today isn’t about kissing in public, what is today’s lesson on?” I ask as I try to focus on the football game, and not on the tiny moans slipping from Penny every time she licks at her cinnamon sugar–coated fingers.

She’s been tearing the tiniest pieces from the churro, and though I’m slightly irritated that she won’t just eat what she wants, I can’t say I’m not enjoying watching her make a mess as she steals little bites from the bag beside me.

I catch her eye as she takes another sip of her cider and her cheeks burn red under my stare. God, I love that I do that to her with just a single look. It might be my favorite thing in the world. And for the next two or so months, I’m determined to find all the different ways to turn her cheeks rosy.

I can’t stop thinking about the other parts of Penny that are the prettiest shades of pink: her lips, her nipples, the smooth globes of her ass after I spank them.

Shit. No. Where the fuck did that thought even come from? My jeans tighten and I hiss between my teeth trying to temper the need coursing through me.

I’m never like this. I don’t study women, I study words.

I think. I overthink. I obsess over stories and worlds that aren’t real. Never people in my own orbit. Again, Penelope Darling seems to be my one exception.

She lets out the smallest of breaths before launching into her speech.

“The most important part of any romance is the tension between your two main characters,” she explains. “A reader doesn’t want to be told how the character feels; they want to experience it. They want to sit with that character as they discover the little things he finds endearing about his heroine. They want to revel in the yearning before their first kiss, when the briefest touch of their fingers sends electricity sparking through them. When the need is so strong you can taste it on your tongue.”

My own tongue feels heavy in my mouth just listening to her talk.

Penny folds her leg and, as she adjusts her position, our knees rub together. It’s the slightest brush but when she settles, her jeans-covered thigh presses against mine. Goose bumps flush across the inside of my leg and my eyes jerk to hers in surprise. How did she do that?

I work to clear my throat as I try to discreetly adjust my pants. “Got it. So we’re working on building tension.”

“Well, not between us. Because this isn’t real,” she reminds me. “But for show? Yeah. I figure that if people see us sitting close, talking, holding hands, and you keep calling me things like your girl…”

She dips her head but I don’t miss the way her freckles blend together and her voice peters out breathlessly.

I look away. It’s torture pulling my eyes from her smooth skin, but if I don’t, I will reach over and kiss her.

This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real.