Suddenly, he’s there.
In my face, those eyes furious now.
Well, join the freaking party.
“Fuck that.”
I blink. “Excuse me?” It’s a dangerous question. A danger he doesn’t heed.
“It’s not over,” he snaps. “It’s not one fucking night. And you don’t get to give me what you gave me, including what you gave me last night and just take it all away.”
“No,” I snap. “Like I said, I don’t need another asshole trying to control my life.”
“Red—”
“I was trying to be nice.” I jab a finger into his chest. “I was trying to let you rest.” Another jab. “And you know what?” I grind out. “Yes, I was going to invite you to pancakes because I know a really good place nearby, but also because I wanted a repeat of last night but with a side of freaking syrup, and you?—”
But I don’t get a chance to finish my insult.
Because I’m suddenly wrapped tight in his arms, his face is in mine, and he says,
“Syrup?”
TWENTY-TWO
Damon
Right.
So I’m starting to think it’s likely that I may have miscalculated.
But now my brain is stuck on… “Syrup?”
The barest tinge of pink appears on her cheeks but her eyes are still furious.
“Oh, fuck off,” she mutters. “Now you’re thinking with your dick because I hinted at sex. No”—she pushes at my chest—“this was clearly a mistake. I shouldn’t have gone there and?—”
I’m fucking this up.
Muddling my way through it, letting my temper take hold like usual and allowing it to fuck everything up in the process.
So…I do the only thing I can in this moment.
I kiss her.
She stills for a moment. Then her hands push at my chestagain, harder this time. I ignore her, trace my tongue over the seam of her lips and?—
She softens, mouth parting, allowing me in.
Thank God.
One small thing I’m not fucking up.
But it’s only when she melts against me that I lift my head.
“Damon—”
I touch her cheek. “I assumed wrong and I was a jackass, Red.”
