That’s a lie. I didn’t bring it on purpose. The thought of smearing that cake on her skin and licking it off was toomuch temptation to handle. But now it’s here, right in front of me, and I’m not going to eat it off her body.
“You want to share it?” I ask, keeping my voice casual, like we didn’t flirt like crazy all day long.
She glances at me, almost unsure. “You don’t mind?”
“Nope.”
Eva pulls out two spoons from her bag like she’s been planning this moment all along and scoots closer. “I figured you wouldn’t want to share spoon germs,” she says with a smirk.
“Look at you, thinking ahead.” I chuckle, accepting the spoon.
She takes the first bite—slow, indulgent—and lets out a moan so sinful it shoots straight to my dick. “God, this issogood,” she says with her eyes closed, totally unaware of the way I’m staring at her like she’s dessert.
I clear my throat, trying to focus on the cake, but I can’t help myself. “You keep making sounds like that, and I’m gonna forget this cake exists and find something else to taste.”
Her eyes snap open, amused and a little wicked. “Is that a promise?” she asks, her voice low and teasing as she licks a bit of frosting off her spoon.
I almost drop mine. “Damn, Eva…”
She grins and bumps my knee with hers. “You started it.”
“What? I’m just saying,” I reply, struggling to keep my tone casual as I dig back into the cake. “You make itveryhard to be a gentleman.”
She arches a brow, her smile smug. “You? A gentleman?”
“On special occasions.” I shrug, chewing slowly.
“Good to know.” Dragging her spoon through the last bitof frosting, her eyes flicking to mine. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you to stop being one.”
We keep eating, passing the plate back and forth. Every so often, our fingers brush. Every time they do, she meets my eyes, like she’s waiting for me to make a move. And every time, I fight with myself not to.
When we finish the cake, spoons abandoned, plate empty, I lean back against the headboard and sigh. “Alright, what now? You picking a movie?”
She grins. “Obviously.”
A few minutes later, a romcom starts playing. She’s curled up on her side of the bed, and I swear I can feel her laugh before I hear it. It’s soft at first, then louder as the movie gets funnier. I can’t help but laugh too, half at the movie, half at her. Being next to her like this is dangerous. But it feels good.
When the credits roll, she gets up to brush her teeth, and I follow. We go through our routines in silence, bumping elbows at the sink like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Domestic. Comfortable. Too comfortable.
Back in bed, the lights are off. She settles under the covers, and I lie beside her, eyes fixed on the ceiling. I don’t move. Not a single muscle. My body is too aware of hers, just a few inches away, breathing soft and even. I want to reach out. Touch her hip. Tangle our legs. Pull her into me. But I won’t.
I need to keep my promise to my best friend.
So, I stay still. Quiet. And hope to hell I survive the night.
The soft morning light filters in through the curtains, and I wake up to the best surprise of my life—Eva, sprawled across my chest like she belongs there.
Her dark hair is a silky curtain over my face and chest, tickling my skin with every slow breath she takes. She’s still out cold, completely relaxed, like she trusts me with her whole body. And damn, that does something to me.
I don’t move. Not even a little. I don’t want to startle her or make her shift away. I just lay there, soaking in the feel of her weight on me. Her body is warm, soft, perfect.
My heart beats harder, and after a few seconds of pure stillness, I can’t help myself. Slowly, carefully, I lift one hand and thread my fingers into her hair. It’s soft as hell and smells like her shampoo—coconut and something sweet, something that’s going to haunt me all day long.
My other hand finds her back, and I let my fingers trail along the curve of her spine. Barely touching. Just enough to feel her, to memorize the shape of her. I hold her there, like I can’t bear to let go.
Closing my eyes for a second, I picture this becoming a habit, waking up with her draped over me, her hair in my face, her body pressed to mine. The idea roots itself in my chest and blooms into something I didn’t see coming.
I want this.
