He stacks them on a plate,
then cuts the stack into four strips.
Sixteen golden sticks, crunch on the outside,
hot enough to melt the roof of your mouth.
He sets the custard and toast on the counter next to me, dips a strip into the warm mixture, and coats the bread in thick, golden ribbons.
Then he holds it out, an offering.
I reach for it?—
But then he pulls back,
stuffs the whole thing in his mouth.
I scoff, stunned.
“Hey—” I smack his arm. “That was my bite, you thief.”
He shrugs, licking custard from his thumb.
“Had to see if it was worthy of your tongue.”
He says it around a mouthful.
Then smirks.
“It is.”
A short laugh leaves me.
“Unbelievable. Hand it over.”
“Ehh… I dunno, Sonny,” he says,
slow and cocky, dipping another.
“Didn’t really back your boy up today.”
He’s grinning, holding it up between us,
waiting for me to bite.
I narrow my eyes and inch forward.
Closer.
Closer—
He teases it back.
My trapped breath punches out of my throat,
shoulders dropping.
His smirk is pure evil. “What?”
