Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,39
buy for you when I went on a supply run. None of this was my decision.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to stop.”
“You threatened to beat me with a rock-filled teddy bear—whatever the fuck that means—if I came back empty-handed. Not stopping didn’t seem like a viable option.”
I use my fork to cut into the treat I’m calling lunch. “A rock-filled teddy bear is the ultimate weapon. Appears cute and harmless, then BAM! Ya dead.”
I shove a bite of the best cinnamon bun along the coast into my mouth, letting the sugar explode over my tongue.
Pebbles of sweat form on the back of my neck, and I know it’s not from eating.
It’s Sully.
I can feel him staring at me.
“What?” I ask, wiping at my lips. “Something on my face?”
“I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Are you doing that mind-reading crap?”
He grins. “It’s not mind-reading. I’m just…intuitive. And no. I was meaning more along the lines of trying to figure out when you got so damn crazy.”
“My mother claims birth. I think it happened when I was about five or so and she forgot to pick me up from school. It’s all trauma-related.”
I shovel another bite of my “lunch” into my mouth.
Sully continues to stare at me like I’m insane. I’m sure he isn’t entirely wrong.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “For grabbing lunch for me. I was famished.”
“You’re welcome, though I’m not sure a cinnamon bun counts as lunch.”
He can tease me all he wants, but that’s the third time this week he’s given in to my sweet tooth. Last night, I mentioned I could go for ice cream.
Half an hour later, Sully was calling me up to the top deck, and we ate our ice cream under the stars.
“Are you now policing which foods can be eaten at certain times of the day?”
“No, but there is a social norm on that.”
“Eh.” I roll my eyes. “Social norms are bullshit.”
He laughs and bites into his lunch—a boring turkey sandwich.
“Today’s Saturday, right?” I ask.
“Yep. Why? Have plans?”
“No. Just trying to figure out why your lame ass got a turkey sandwich when I know full well Daisy’s has a Saturday special on the menu. What was it today?”
“Something with pickles.” He curls his lip. “I fucking hate pickles.”
“You hate pickles? Pickles? And you call me an abomination because I hate pizza.”
“Just eat your sugar coma, Thea.” He shakes his head, taking another bite.
He chews. Swallows.
Runs his tongue over his lips.
And I somehow find it to be incredibly sexy.
I’ve been finding everything he does incredibly sexy.
His eyes? Sexy.
His laugh? Sexy.
Smile? Sexy.
The way his hair curls out from under his baseball cap? What’s the point of panties again?
What the fuck is wrong with you, Thea? Are you really that horny?
I calculate how long it’s been since I last got laid and…yep, I am that horny.
Ugh. Pathetic.
“How’s the motor coming along?” Sully asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
The way he asks it…there’s something to it, like he knows I’ve been coming here without anything to do just to be around him.
I pull my fork out of my mouth. “I, uh…I’m almost done.”
He tries to fight his smile, but he’s unsuccessful.
And I know.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” I ask, setting my fork down and crossing my arms over my chest.
“I had a feeling.”
“A magic one?”
He laughs. “No. You’re just good at your job.”
“How would you know that? I’ve never done any work for you.”
“No, but you manage a shop, Thea, and you’re not even thirty yet.”
I don’t miss the awe in his voice.
Nor do I miss the way those fucking butterflies start again.
I like that Sully’s proud of me, like that in contrast with previous men in my life, he’s not shitting on me for what I do.
The saddest part? He’s not even really in my life.
“Are you busy tomorrow?” he asks.
“Why?”
“I need help burying a body.”
“Seriously?”
“No.” He narrows his eyes. “But you sound oddly excited about that.”
“I was just going to tell you you’re doing it wrong. You obviously want to charter a boat for the day and go way out in the ocean, chum the water, and then dump the body for the sharks to eat.”
“Duly noted.” He chuckles. “Remind me not to ever piss you off.”
“No plans for tomorrow,” I say, answering his question. “Why?”
“Want to learn to surf?”
“So it’s me you want to kill.”
He sniffs. “Hardly. I think if you give it a shot, you’ll like it.”
“I don’t know…” I say, grabbing my fork and scraping at the remaining icing on the