Ew, no thanks.
“You know very well that I’m quite old enough to drink.” I’m twenty-three, only two years younger than Sam. “And it’s ten a.m. On a Tuesday.”
“So?” He stumbles through the house, and I follow warily.
Even though it’s a cloudless day, it’s dark inside, the drapes drawn on most of the windows. Takeout and pizza boxes are stacked in the corner, along with crushed thirty-pack beer boxes and liquor bottles. I spot a few empty water bottles among it all, but I’m alarmed at how unkempt and filthy the house is. The last time I was here, I noticed all the custom leather furniture and expensive-looking Western art on the walls.
“I don’t usually drink in the mornings, especially on weekdays,” I offer.
Sam collapses into an oversize leather armchair. His gray sweatpants are slung low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination through the thin fabric. He surveys me with unwavering eyes, the most attention I’ve ever received from him. My skin feels like it’s about to spark a fire. The heat between us could roast a full bag of marshmallows.
He runs his tongue over his top lip, eyes trailing down over my body. “You’re just here to bring food?”
I freeze, my knees nearly knocking together. “I can stay for a little while, if you wanna talk.” My voice trembles as I speak.
Does he think I’m someone else?
Sam has all but ignored my entire existence for over ten years. His sudden undivided attention is unnerving. He’s not a player. His one longtime ex-girlfriend, Keely, is the only girl I’ve ever seen him give attention to. He hangs with the boys and minds his own business. He likes bow hunting, cattle roping, and bull riding for fun occasionally.
Sam slurps down another gulp from the liquor bottle. I watch his blurry Adam’s apple bob in his throat, feeling mine go dry at the sight.
“Should I put this in the kitchen?” I ask, my voice sharp and high-pitched. I lift the coffee cake.
He shakes his head. “Bring it to me.”
My eyes widen. Wooden steps move me closer to him, my bones suddenly feeling bendy and fragile. I find myself crossing the large room to stand in front of him, the master of the house, looking up at me with shiny, inebriated eyes.
Sam’s attention is like a drug I never knew I was already addicted to.
“Feed me a bite of it, sis. My hands hurt.”
“Stop calling me that, and I will,” I hear myself say.
This is an out-of-body experience, like I’m watching it from a distance and not physically participating.
He grins, his handsome face shooting daggers into my melted heart. “What would you prefer, Dollface?” His voice is gravelly, deep, and half drunk.
Dollface is good …
“Anything else, literally.” I’m slightly breathless.
He leans his head back, resting it against the chair. “Can I have a bite now?”
I look down at the cake, my fingers trembling as I pull back the plastic covering. The cake is meant to be cut with a knife, but I pull apart a gooey cinnamon-and-sugar-coated piece withmy bare fingers. I step closer to him so that I can see him clearly enough and not accidentally poke him in the eye with my hand.
I hold it out in front of his face, intending for him to take it with his hand. He waits for me, eyes twinkling with mischief as he looks at me. I jolt when I feel his hand on the back of my knee, tugging me a step closer.
“I don’t bite, Dollface, not unless you ask nicely,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against the tender skin of my leg.
Fireworks explode around the point of contact, and I nearly buckle over.
“Do you want me to feed you?” I force out, my voice almost a whimper.
He reaches out to grab my wrist with his other hand, dragging me toward his face. “Yes, just don’t tell your brothers.”
I gasp, shifting as I push the cake into his mouth. His teeth sink into it, grazing against my forefinger as he bites down. Both of his hands reach around to grasp the back of my thighs, pulling me close until I’m basically in his lap. He pulls away from my hand, a groan from the back of his throat filling the space around us.
My core throbs with need and desire, my fingers sticky from the sugar. Sam chews slowly, eyes rolling to the back of his head.
