A laugh escapes me, and she takes the opportunity to shove the remainder of the lemon bar into my mouth. She pushes a little too far, the tip of her finger hooking behind my bottom teeth. Willow gasps as I close my lips around it, licking the sugary residue from her skin. Her blue eyes flare, and if I’m not mistaken, her pupils expand as I pull back and her finger pops out of my mouth.
She stares at me with her full lips parted, rapid breath bursting out of them in sync with her expanding chest. I drag my gaze up the column of her throat, watching it move as she swallows hard before I reach her eyes again.
“You’re right, Wills. I do like them. Thanks for thinking of me.”
She blinks, dumbfounded, and a surge of pride floods my chest.
This is flirting. I’m definitely flirting.
I don’t flirt. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve never cared. I’ve never had to bite my lip to stop a smile after watching a woman’s eyes widen at my touch. I’ve never felt the urge to jump up and down after making someone blush the way Willow is right now. I’ve never had my insides twist and lock and expand at the soundof a laugh the way they do when I hear Willow’s. Like the very tides themselves are cresting and breaking and crashing inside my body at her command.
Like she’s the moon.
And fuck. I should not be feeling this way. I shouldn’t be acting like this. I don’t know what came over me just then, and I’m sure all the playful courage I’m feeling right now will fade any second. Maybe it’s the fact she thought of me enough to buy me pastries, that she was comfortable enough to shove them directly into my mouth.
I don’t stand this close to people. I don’t hold casual conversations about my truths and my fears. I don’t look forward to seeing anyone the way I do when I run into Willow. I anticipate her presence everywhere, all the time.
She’s off-limits, and it can’t ever go further than this. I’m painfully aware of that, but I guess for one brief moment, I wanted to pretend I could be playful and flirty and charming with a pretty girl whom I somehow make laugh, who somehow makes me feel like I matter.
Though, the longer Willow goes without responding, the more fleeting this newfound courage seems to be.
Shit.Maybe I crossed a line.
You sucked on her finger.
Yeah. I definitely crossed a line.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out. “Was that?—”
Willow grabs my arm, using both hands to guide mine into the box of lemon bars. She grasps my finger, swiping it through custard before lifting it to her mouth. She flicks a brow at me, running her tongue up the length of my finger before wrapping her lips around it and sucking the lemon filling away.
And I’m hard.
“Ah,” I whimper.Whimper. Because she’s still touching me. She’s still smiling at me. Licking her lips with the same tonguethat was just on my skin. Batting those unbelievably massive blue eyes with an innocence that’s somehow the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“I can play too, Wes.”
Now I’m dumbfounded. Slack-jawed and staring.
Willow’s sultry blue eyes scan my body, and I curse the thin shorts I’m wearing as her gaze glides down my face and over my chest. I spin around, bracing my arms on the counter, turning my back to her.
“Yeah,” I say through gritted teeth. “Well, good game.”
Her laugh rakes along my bones, and I wonder if it’s possible for a simple sound to set one’s blood aflame.
“Weston, would itbe inappropriate for me to ask you to make dinner every night?” Darby asks, twirling spaghetti around her fork.
“It’s what I miss most about having him at home. That’s for sure.” Carter nods.
“Rude.” I laugh, pointing my fork at him before turning to Darby. “And of course. I’m here to help with whatever you need.”
“Correct answer,” Leo responds. “But we won’t be asking you to do that. Weston’s here to surf.” He eyes me. “Right?”
I nod rapidly, going back to my food.
The remainder of the meal passes with comfortable conversation, and far too many stolen glances at Willow, who blushes every time she lifts her head and finds our gazes clashing. As if the room is in orbit, and we’re each the other’s center.
I can still taste her skin on my tongue. Still feel her tongue on my skin.
