Crush - Kelsie Rae Page 0,53
been told.
“Uh, huh. Sure.” I roll my eyes before planting my ass in the seat next to her. With a quick peck to her lips, I buckle up and try not to stare at the girl who loves to drive me nuts and has no idea how much of a turn on it is.
Subtly, I rearrange myself in my jeans but am caught red-handed.
“How you doin’ down there?” A smile tugs at the corner of her sultry lips.
“Fine,” I grumble.
Repeating my comment from ten seconds ago, she says, “Uh, huh. Sure,” then leans a little closer. “Tell me, are you part of the mile-high club?”
As I shake my head back and forth, her eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”
“Why do you look so surprised? Should I be offended right now?”
“I dunno. You just seem like the type, I guess.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I mutter, my ego taking a small hit.
“Not disappointing. If anything, it’s kind of endearing.”
Perking up in my seat, my curiosity gets the best of me. “And how’s that?”
“Don’t get me wrong, girls like it when they’re with a guy who knows what he’s doing down there, but we also like being the first to experience something with their partner every now and again too.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
She laughs. “Don’t get your hopes up, Ben. My stomach is huge right now. I’m not even sure if I could fit in the bathroom on this plane by myself, let alone with a grown man squished in there too. We’d be like a couple of sardines, so I guess you’ll have to take a rain check.”
“Rain check?” My brow raises, but I try to restrain my grin.
Her cheeks heat as she realizes what she just implied.
“I mean, unless that’s weird for you. I shouldn’t have assumed we’d still be…whatever we are.”
“Whatever we are?” I prod, enjoying the way it makes her squirm beside me. I’ve been under the impression we were an item, but we haven’t had the official talk. The whole thing has felt so natural that we haven’t needed to have one. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t like teasing her.
Lips pursed, Marcy sputters, “You know what I mean.”
“I’m kidding. And even though we haven’t talked about official labels, I’m more than happy to take a rain check on us joining the mile-high club the next time we’re on a plane without your beach ball belly getting in the way. Deal?”
She stays silent as if she’s weighing her options then points out, “I mean, since we haven’t talked about labels, I might have to think about it.”
With a bark of laughter, I turn as much as I can in my chair and tangle her fingers with mine. “Alright, Marcy Holden. I have a very serious question for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Will you be my girlfriend?” The sting from her smacking my arm makes me laugh even harder. “What the hell was that for?”
“You’re making it sound lame,” she whines, trying––and failing––to hide her smile.
“I’m not trying to make it sound lame. I was just thinking that since we hadn’t officially discussed labels, and we’re on a plane for a few hours, now might be a good time to bring it up. Especially when you were considering taking off the whole mile-high club. Not cool, Marce. Not cool. However, I might take it back if you don’t answer me. We’ve already discussed my ego, and how it likes to be stroked, remember?”
She grins. “Mmmhmm.”
“Mmmhmm, you remember me mentioning my ego? Or mmmhmm, you’ll let us put a label on this?”
“Both.” Her eyes are practically glowing with mirth, and I can’t help but poke the bear a little more. She’s just so damn gorgeous when I do.
“Is that right?”
“Mmmhmm,” she repeats for what feels like the thousandth time since we started this conversation. My lips drop down to that same sultry mouth I’d been admiring a few minutes ago.
Her lips tug into a knowing smile as she quips, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
“I would, but it wouldn’t do the real thing justice. Oh. And you popped my pancake cherry, remember?”
Laughing, she shakes her head in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You said that you like sharing firsts. Bertha’s pancakes were a first for me.”
“Touché,” she admits. Her smile softens. “I forgot about the pancake cherry. Sooo good. One more thing.” Unlocking her phone, Marcy clicks on her photo album then hands it to me. “You’re talking to a photographer, remember? I can definitely make a picture do the real thing