“That’s not happening.”
“It’s already happening. You just haven’t agreed to it yet.”
I tilted my head. “And if I win?”
She paused, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
“Fine,” she said. “If you win, I’ll stop calling you adorable.”
I raised a brow. “Completely?”
“Completely.”
“I want it in writing.”
She reached for my phone on the nightstand, opened the notes app, and typed it herself.
Madeline Thorne agrees to stop calling Vince Crow adorable if she loses cookie judging bet.
Dated. Signed with three pink heart emojis.
I took the phone, placed it down.
The show rolled into its final challenge, and we both leaned in. Her fingers stayed curled around my wrist. Mine drifted ran over her thigh under the covers.
Every now and then, she’d hum in disapproval or gasp dramatically, and I’d have to pretend it wasn’t doing something to me. When the judges announced the winner, she let out a loud gasp.
“No!”
I smirked. “I won.”
She turned to me slowly, narrowing her eyes. “You rigged this.”
“I don’t control baking television.”
“You absolutely bribed someone.”
“She piped clean lines under pressure. I admire efficiency.”
“Ugh.”
I grinned as she grabbed a pillow and whacked me with it.
“You’re the worst,” she muttered.
“Say it.”
“Never.”
“You lost the bet.”
She pouted. “You’re not even going to gloat?”
I considered it. Then leaned down, kissed her shoulder, and whispered, “Admit defeat, sweetheart.”
Her whole body flushed.
“I hate you.”
