Page 39

“Me?”

“The casserole lady.”

She wets her lips. “You think I’m the casserole lady?”

Is she kidding me with this? It’s got to be her.

Doesn’t it?

I peer into the bag, but all I can see is what appears to be a sweatshirt on the top. I am simply not the kind of guy to go rummaging through a woman’s bag, so I meet her gaze again.

“I do,” I tell her.

But…maybe I’m wrong.

“Why would you think that?” she asks.

“Because…you make casseroles.” Okay, that sounds stupid.

“I would guess that eighty percent of the people in this town make casseroles.”

I frown. “Seriously?”

“Okay, seventy-three.” She wrinkles her nose. “Sixty-eight. Final answer.”

I laugh, despite myself. I shake my head. “Well, the hot pink thong would definitely fit you.”

Her cheeks instantly flame as pink as the thong. “It would probably fit dozens of women in town.”

I don’t care.

That’s my first thought.

I do not want to see a single other woman in a thong. Ever again.

And I haven’t even seen this one in a thong. Or in granny panties.

But I want to. Even the granny panties.

“How do you feel about getting sticky?” I ask.

She blinks rapidly a few times, then says, “Sticky as in kneading bread dough, or sticky as in gluing sequins on I Pucking Love Big Sticks t-shirts, or sticky as in mud wrestling?”

God, I really like flirting with Sutton.

I grin. “How about all of the above?” I lean in, really wanting to see how she reacts to this up close. “Or as in being covered in chocolate sauce?”

She wets her lips, and her gaze drops to my mouth.

Dammit.

“I think…there are actually really nice ways to be sticky.”

I lean in, even realizing as I do it that it’s a bad idea. “Sutton⁠—”

Just then the back door swings open and Brewser walks in.

I jerk back, putting nearly two feet between us.