But it feels like more than that.
It feels like we’re becoming friends, outside of the orgasms and incredible sex. And snarky bantering that usually leads to both.
He even sent an emoji this morning when we were texting about him coming over tonight.
Anemoji.
Wildersent an emoji.
Granted, yes, it was an eggplant, which is the most cliché of all, but I finally got his geriatric self to send an emoji, so I’ll be celebrating that win for a very long time.
Just as I finish pouring the measuring cup of flour into the mixing bowl, I hear a knock at the front door.
“Coming!” I call out as I set down the cup and drag my palms down the front of my apron. My hands are sticky with sugar and butter, and truthfully, I’m afraid to look in the mirror to see if I’m as much of a wreck as I’m sure I am.
I’ve always been the world’s messiest baker.
I probably shouldn’t have decided at the very last minute to make my Mawmaw’s famous chocolate chip cookies when I knew Wilder would be here soon, but…
He may have mentioned they’re his favorite.
But I’m not making themfor him.
I’m making them all for myself, but maybe he heavily influenced my decision to.
Sebastian trots alongside me, his tail flicking happily as I walk down the hallway to the front door. Clearly, he’s not put off in the slightest by Wilder’s distaste for him.
I think that maybe, like me, he gets that Wilder is just… prickly. He needs the chance to thaw a little, is all.
“Way to be tenacious, handsome king,” I say to Sebastian, giggling when he meows on cue as if he’s responding.
When I pull the front door open, Wilder’s standing there with his hands shoved in the pockets of black gym shorts. He must’ve just showered because his dark hair is damp and curling at his temples and nape, and he smells like the most delicious mixture of rich amber and smoky bourbon.
I can’t imagine there’s ever going to be a time when I’m over how stupidly hot he is.
Even after all of these weeks, every time I see him, there’s this flip of my stomach, my pulse racing until my head swims.
Like… I get tofuckthis man.
I get mind-blowing orgasms from him.
“Hi,” I breathe, soundingfarmore calm, cool, and collected than the thoughts in my head currently are. “Do you want to come in?”
Wilder’s lips twitch as he shrugs. “Nah. Probably just gonna stand out here all night.”
I’m thinking of a very good snarky response when he leans forward, the dark gray fabric of his T-shirt straining on his ink-stained biceps as he lifts his thumb and sweeps it along my cheek, then pulls it back for me to see. “Think you’ve got flour all over you, Sunshine.”
Shit. I didn’t realize it was on my freakingface.
I leave the door open for him and walk straight to the mirror hanging in the living room to inspect my reflection.
And of course, there’s flour on my cheeks, and some on my nose and on my eyebrow.
“Sunshine? That’s new,” I say when I turn to look at him. “Are we doing pet names now, Coach?”
His laugh washes over me, and I realize I probably shouldn’t like the sound as much as I do. “Would you prefer brat?” When I shoot him a mock glare, he smirks. “What are you making? It smells fucking delicious.”
He’s leaning against the island in my kitchen, doing his best to ignore Sebastian, who’s relentless in his pursuit of head scratches by rubbing against his legs.
