“Fucking hell. Does she need to bleedin’ remind us every time we go upstairs?” Callan clips out from behind me.
“At least she’s letting us upstairs. At my house, Dad will be chaperoning us in the living room.” I’m not even joking. Dad has always been super strict with my exes when we were dating, and I don’t see Callan being any different.
“I predict more tree climbing in my future,” he whispers, leaning over me from behind. His warm breath on the side of my face sends delicious chills tiptoeing up and down my spine.
Callan darts around me, opening his bedroom door and stepping aside to let me enter first. My side brushes against the front of his body, and I tingle in every place we touch. A bunch of books is stacked on one of his bedside tables, and on the other is a mug and a plate with a slice of cake. I jerk my chin up, meeting his amber eyes. “Is that maple cake from the resort?”
Callan almost chokes on a laugh. “You can tell just by looking at it?”
“Well, duh.” I playfully elbow him as he closes the door. “What kind of cake lover would I be if I couldn’t, and you’re supposed to be leaving that open.”
He flashes me a dazzling smile, and I fall into a trance. Callan is a very good-looking guy, but when he smiles like that, he’s the most beautiful boy in the world.
“Oops. I forgot,” he jests, throwing himself onto the bed. “Sit. Drink your tea and eat your cake.”
I blink a few times before walking to his bed and sitting on the edge. “Why are you buying me cake?”
He pulls himself up against the headboard. “You said the maple cake is the best at the resort.” He props a few pillows against the other side of the headboard. “I was buying cake for Ma and Erin, and I thought I’d buy a slice for you too.” He shrugs. “It’s no biggie. Friends buy friends cake.”
“Sure.”
“Kick off your shoes and sit up,” he commands, patting the fluffy pillows.
I do as I’m told, sitting with my back to the headboard and my legs resting on his bed. Callan mirrors my position on the other side, sipping some kind of herbal tea, while I dive into my cake. A moan slips from my lips as the first bite enters my mouth, and my tongue explodes with sweet, spicy, tangy yumminess. I close my eyes and savor the texture and taste as I place another forkful in my mouth.
When I reopen my eyes, Callan is staring at my mouth like a starving man. His pupils are dilated, and his tongue darts out, licking his lips.
“Who needs sex when there is maple cake?” I blurt before engaging my brain. My cheeks instantly inflame. Oh my gawd. I can’t believe I just said that!
Deep laughter rumbles from Callan’s chest as he cracks up. “You might feel differently about that in the future.”
“I more than likely will,” I concede. “But I’m not the only virgin in the room.” I scoop up another piece of cake. “If I’m not mistaken, our star soccer player is a maple cake virgin.” Callan grins. “Shocking, Mr. Hunt.” I hold out the fork. “I know it’s got tons of sugar, but you can’t live in Vermont and not know what maple cake tastes like.” I leave the fork dangling between us because I won’t force him. It’s his call.
“I guess a small bite won’t hurt,” he says, leaning toward me.
I lift the fork toward his mouth, and he parts his lips, keeping his eyes trained on mine as I slide the cake inside. I’ve had many thoughts about maple cake in my seventeen years on this planet, but envy is a first. As Callan’s lips seal around the fork, I desperately wish it were my mouth instead. Electricity charges the air surrounding us as he slowly chews, maintaining eye contact the entire time. I set the fork back on my plate in a daze. I’m overheating under my sweater and sure my face is as red as a tomato.
We continue staring at one another even after he has swallowed, and when he moves in closer, his eyes lowering to my mouth, a symphony bursts from my chest as my heart beats in tune to the imaginary orchestra. It’s possible I’m hyperventilating as his face inches nearer, and just as I’m about to close my eyes and surrender to his kiss, his fingers rub the corner of my mouth. “You had a little cream cheese icing there.”
His words snap me out of fantasyland, and I jerk back, averting my gaze and hoping he doesn’t see the disappointment in my eyes or the heat crawling over my cheeks. “Um, thanks,” I croak out, grabbing the plate and stuffing more cake in my mouth. “So, what’s the verdict?” I ask when I’ve demolished the cake, pleased I sound composed after my moment of insanity.
“On what?”
My head whips up, catching him watching my lips again.
My fingers touch my mouth. “Do I have more frosting on them?”
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “No. You’re good.”
“Okay.” Weird. “So?”
“So?” Confusion paints his gorgeous face.
“The cake? Did you like it?”
“Oh, um, yeah. It was decent.”
“Decent?”
