THIRTY-SEVEN
TO-FIX LIST
Make.
Dyers.
Pay.
THIRTY-EIGHT
LUNCHABLES + DEEP HEAT = MISERY
Because Zach wascool even as he slid out of the birth canal, he rocks up behind me in a pair of jeans, some Docs, and a Henley and somehow makes it look like he tried.
In comparison to his zero effort, I’ve spent the last three hours trying to make my hair behave and the number of times I’ve redone my eye makeup is a literal joke.
“We should make it a rule that you only huff this much when I’m eating you out,” he declares as he slides behind me and settles his chin on my shoulder. “Which is on tonight’s to-do list if you recall.”
“That can’t be comfortable,” I argue, bumping his chin.
“Grow a couple inches then.”
I ignore his teasing and huff. Again. I also ignore his arched brow, then purse my lips,thenglare at the dress he picked.Why did I agree to wear this again?!
“You look beautiful.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. And your tits…” He whistles. “They’d awaken the dead.”
My nose scrunches but I peer at them in the mirror and find, well, breasts. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah.” He does this thing with his hips that lets mefeelhis reaction. “See?”
“You’re always hard around me, though.”
“Is that a complaint I hear? Because I can remove my dick from your presence,” he sings, taking a half-step back.
Yelping, I swing around and draw him close again. “No going anywhere!”
His mouth quirks up in a cute grin as he lassos his arms around my waist and tucks me deeper into his hold. “You okay, baby?”
“No. I’m not. I don’t want to do this.”
“Then we don’t,” he says immediately.
