Page 83 of Faking It
“Who could forget good ‘ol Tucker,” I murmur and know the button I pushed was the right one when his eyes harden and eyebrows raise.
“Good ‘ol Tuck who was putting me through the ringer so we’d break up from our fake relationship and he could hit on you.”
“Whatever.” I laugh but love that he was jealous and admitted it.
“Then there was fishing at the lake.”
“Ugh. Worms.”
He laughs and I know he’s thinking of my squeal when he made me put one on the hook all by myself.
“But you caught a fish.”
“I did.”
“And then there was the city’s three-legged sack race.”
“Longest one in the United States.” I flash a bright smile thinking of the heat, the awkwardness of our legs being tied together, and the frustration every time we’d fall.
“I’ve got your longest one right here.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Whatever.”
“Are you complaining?”
“None, whatsoever,” I say as he takes another lick of the frosting.
“Then t
here was the blindfold challenge.”
“I don’t care what you say, but making me taste Vegemite without giving me a warning it would taste like . . . I don’t know what it tastes like, but I’ll make sure to never eat it again.” I shiver at the thought of being blindfolded and having to taste five things he fed me.
“Don’t be dissing one of my favs.”
“Believe me, if I decide to visit down under, it definitely won’t be to eat that crap.” But there’s something about my comment that has him angling his head to the side and just staring.
“I can think of plenty of other benefits to going down under.” His voice is coy, the lick of his lips suggestive. My body reacts immediately when he puts the bowl down beside him and walks the few feet to where I’m sitting.
His eyes darken and hold mine as he picks up my aching feet and begins to work his thumb over the arch. I’m more than aware I only recited four of the outings we had but right now all I can focus on is his magic hands. “Oh, god that feels good.”
“Yeah?”
“Right there.”
He continues to rub. I continue to make appreciative noises very similar to keening and moaning.
“Not that I’m complaining by any means, Cinder, but why do you always insist on wearing heels?”
“Why not?” A soft smile plays on my lips. “I can either be a high-heel in life or a flip-flop. I choose high heel. Sophisticated and classy. Do they hurt? Yes. Do I look the part I want to be? Always.” He smiles and shakes his head as I let mine fall back on the chair as he continues to rub. “Don’t. Ever. Stop.”
“I’ll remind you of those three words later.”
“Mmm,” I murmur as that sweet simmer spreads throughout my body at the promise in his words.
“I have champagne if you want some.”
“Champagne?” I ask.
