Hunter: Baby girl.
Notfriend.
Baby girl.
Yep, I’m completely, hopelessly done for. My thumbs move before I can think twice.
Me: Did you touch yourself?
The room tilts as heat rushes to my face.Holy shit, I did not just send that.
Hunter: No.
No? That’s it. I stare, waiting for another text. Seconds go by, and I start to chew on my lip.
Me: Really?
Hunter: You told me not to.
Hunter: And I wanted to be good. I want to follow the rules.
My stomach does a little somersault, and I have to press my lips together to contain my smile.
Me: Oh…
There’s a pause, long enough to make my pulse stutter.
Hunter: I’ll see you tonight.
I stare at his last text, the wordsI’ll see you tonightrepeating in my head like a song I can’t shut off. Mystomach swoops, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
A calendar notification flashes across my screen.
Cake tasting with Connor.
“Shit.” My heart lurches.
I scramble off my bed so fast, I stumble into the wall, trip over the dress I stripped off last night, and snatch my keys. Shoving my feet into the closest pair of shoes, I sprint for the door. I was supposed to meet him in town ten minutes ago. He’s appointed himself to cake duty for Halle’s birthday next weekend, and he’s taking the job very seriously. So seriously, he’s booked an actual cake tasting at the bakery in town. When we told him that was a wedding thing, not a birthday thing, he blinked at us and said, “Halle deserves the best cake she’s ever had.” He’s probably pacing outside the shop, arms crossed, muttering about being on time and buttercream.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
I stop in front of Connor, wearing the world’s guiltiest smile. His eyes narrow, crinkling at the corners as he bends down until we’re eye to eye. My smile only grows.
“Would it help if I said I was late because Hunter turned my brain into melted chocolate?”
Connor’s mouth splits into a grin, straight white teeth showing. A spark lights in his hazel eyes.
“Yes. Yes, it does, Queen.” He straightens, sliding an arm over my shoulder.
“Oh my god,” I giggle, nudging him. “Stop with the Queen.”
“No can do.”
The bell above the bakery door jingles as we step inside. Warm air wraps around us instantly. It’s sweet, buttery, and smells like vanilla bean, rising dough, citrus, and icing. Mystomach growls on the spot, my mouth watering. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The place is small, cozy. Glass cases line the front counter, fogged slightly from the heat of pastries cooling behind them. Behind the counter sit trays of cupcakes and slices, a mixer sounds in the back, and somewhere, a timer dings.
Connor squeezes my shoulder. “Try not to orgasm over the smell.”
I push him off me, laughing as the bakery owner—a short, round older man with flour dusting his apron—steps out from the back.
