Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,31
my homework.
“You don’t like Christmas?” She turns on me the moment I step over the threshold.
“I can do without it.”
“What?!” she cries. She screws up her irritated eyes. “‘Can do without it.’ You’re an animal.”
“Only in the sheets.”
“How?!” she goes on, ignoring me. “There are picturesque trees and candies and presents and snowmen and Santa. Don’t even get me started on all the beautiful lights strung about.”
“But there’s no snow…” I point out.
“Snow is not the point. It’s the spirit!” Another throw of her hands. “That’s the whole idea of it.”
“You’re really riled up over this.”
“Well, yeah. It’s a travesty.”
“And your dislike of pizza isn’t?”
“Ugh.” She tosses her head back. “I need a damn cookie. You’re stressing me out.”
She shoves past me into the house only to return a moment later with the whole box. She thrusts it my way, and I drop the binder on the stairs in favor of the goodies.
“Here. You need one too.”
“I actually—”
“I swear, Sully, if you say some silly-ass shit like you don’t like cookies, I will end this right”—she punches the air with her pointer finger—“now.”
Fighting a smile, I flip open the top of the box and pluck a cookie out, not caring what flavor I’ve grabbed. Closing the lid, I set the box down on the table saw I borrowed from Simon. “I was going to say I love Daisy’s. How’d you know?”
Hands on her hips, head tipped back and pointed toward the sky, she blows out a relieved breath. “You just saved our entire relationship.”
“That was a close one.” I take a bite of the cookie and flavor explodes in my mouth. I close my eyes, moaning around the delicious concoction. “Oh, fuck. What is this?”
When she doesn’t answer, I peel my eyes open and look her way.
She’s standing there, a little too close, and her gaze is set firmly on my mouth.
“Thea?”
She swallows, pulling her eyes to mine. “Can you not?”
“What?”
“Do that—the moaning.”
I chew what’s left in my mouth and swallow it down. Grinning, I say, “Oh, I’m sorry. Is my moaning getting to your…what did you call them? Lady loins?”
“What?” She curls the corner of her lip. “Ew. No. It’s just annoying.”
Her mouth is saying one thing, but the nipples very clearly poking through her tight shirt say differently.
Thea’s turned on.
“Mmhmm. Whatever you say.” I wipe at my mouth, making sure I have all the bits of crumbs off.
She puckers her lips and pops open the lid, inspecting the cookies. “It was maple-glazed apple crisp.”
“That’s my new favorite.” I pat my stomach as I rest against the boat. “Man, I fucking love Daisy’s.”
“Aside from the shop, it’s my most favorite place on the island.”
“Speaking of the shop… I’m curious how that came about. Did your dad make you work there when you were a teen and you just decided to stay? Or did something else draw you to the trade?”
She smiles warmly, taking a seat on the stairs. “It actually all started with a flat tire when I was six, if you can believe it.”
“Something that simple?”
Her head bobs up and down. “Yep. It triggered my love for learning about cars and working with my hands. I became my dad’s shadow in the shop. He never had to ask me to work—I happily volunteered.”
“What’s your favorite kind of car?”
She points to the binder. “I covered that in section three, I believe.”
“Forget the binder and the lists. I want to hear this stuff from you.”
“Isn’t…” She licks her lips, her hands fidgeting. “Isn’t that a little…less clinical?”
“Clinical isn’t a word I’d use to describe any of my relationships.”
“This isn’t a relationship,” she argues.
“We’re selling it as one.” I push off the boat, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of her. Hell, I’m practically between her legs. “I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, right?”
She nods, peering up at me with unsure eyes. “Right.”
“Then we can’t be clinical. We need to be intimate.” Resting my hands on the railing, I lean down until I’m at eye level. “Can you do that? Can you be intimate with me?”
She opens her mouth to speak, and I know whatever she says will be an argument.
“Intimate doesn’t mean sex, before you even bring that up. Being intimate can mean talking. Becoming friends, revealing secrets, being real—can we be real, Thea?”
Her lips part as her lush green eyes bore into me, and I see the faintest hint of trepidation.
More so, though, I see want.
I see yearning.
I see desire.
I see everything I know is swirling