Page 194 of Playing With Fire

Because the thought of her eventually leaving bothers me a hell of a lot more than it should.

I should probably be thinking about Beckett. About the fact that his little sister is living under my roof and I just kissed her like I've been starving for it.

But all I can think about is doing it again.

I'm so fucked.

By the time I make it downstairs, Laney’s curled up on the couch in my jersey, two plates of cake waiting on the coffee table.

Darcy's sprawled across the cushion beside her.

"You're letting him have my spot?"

"He was here first."

I sit on her other side, and Darcy immediately stretches across my thigh, dragging his sandpaper tongue over my forearm.

"Ouch! What's with the licking?"

"Affection."

"Feels like he's taking off a layer of skin."

"Cat tongues have backward-facing barbs called papillae."

"Of course you know that."

I look at Darcy, who's now sitting there like nothing happened.

"So he's got a mouthful of tiny hooks?"

"Basically."

"Great. Good to know he's armed."

She laughs, reaching over to scratch beneath his chin.

"He likes you."

"He's got a funny way of showing it."

Darcy gives me one long, unimpressed look before hopping down and disappearing toward the stairs.

Delaney watches him go, smiling to herself.

And I watch her.

The way her hair falls over her shoulder. The freckles across her nose. The oversized jersey that hangs nearly to her thighs.

She turns back to me, grins and hands me a plate.

The cake is dark chocolate—her favorite.

Personally, I've always thought dark chocolate tastes like somebody forgot the sugar, but the way she practically melts over her first bite makes the trip to the bakery across town worth it.

The moan she makes when the cake hits her tongue has me adjusting myself.

I try to ignore the delicious little sounds she keeps making as she devours her cake and take a bite of my own.