Her brow quirked. “You really don’t have a passion?”
“There are things I enjoy, like sketching and growing things, sure. But passion’s a strong word. Are you passionate about getting hit in the face with cake?”
“Not so much that part of it, but the Femmes are a package deal. A smelly, gross package that will end up with me being humiliated weekly on national television, but a package that’s good for my career nonetheless. What I’m passionate about is the thrill. Spending months organizing something, bringing it all together to create a perfect moment. The joy of seeing that moment come to fruition and the joy experienced by the people I put it together for. It makes me feel like I did something great, something hard.”
“It makes you feel accomplished. But is that your passion? Is it something you’d do if you didn’t make a cent doing it?”
She was frowning again. “Is gardening yours?”
I shrugged, taking her arms around my neck for a ride. “Sure.”
“That was convincing.”
“There are a lot of things I love about it and nothing I hate. Other than getting bawled out by wedding planners.”
That earned me a laugh. “You mean to tell me there’s not one thing about your job you’re loathe to do? I mean, aside from dealing with me.”
I gave it the thought it deserved and answered honestly. “No, nothing.”
“Even shoveling mulch?”
“Even shoveling mulch. I call it shoulder day and wear a bandana to cover the smell. Makes me feel like a cowboy.”
She assessed me, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You know, I could see that. You as a cowboy. You don’t belong in this world.”
“No?”
“No. You could be a Gallic warrior or a Viking king or a cowboy. Brutish and wild, untamed. Size alone warrants the impossibility that you live in this time and not somewhere long ago, ruled by survival.”
The compliment I kept, held it tight, slid it into my pocket to remember later. “I think I’d pick a cowboy. Always did like horses. Although I’d probably be terrible at guns and lassos.”
“You’d learn,” she assured me, smiling. “There’s got to be something about your job you hate.”
“Why’s it so hard to believe?”
“Because it’s impossible.”
“Hate’s just as strong a word as passion. I don’t hate much of anything.”
She inspected me, saying after a moment, “Tell me one thing you hate.”
I broke my gaze to look over the top of her head at the wall, finally landing on something. “I hate when someone I love is hurt.”
“That doesn’t count.”
I frowned, looking back down at her. “How come?”
“Because it’s about other people, not you. Come on, what about something to eat? Like onions. Or mushrooms.”
“No, I like both of those. I’m like a raccoon—I’ll eat pretty much anything.”
She shook her head at me in disbelief. “I cannot fathom this.”
“Because you have so many opinions. Is it that hard to believe there could be another end of the spectrum?”
“Sure, but to hate nothing? That’s just weird, Kash. Everybody has things they love and things they hate, and I aim to figure out yours.”
I pulled her a little closer, smirking again. “What do you love to do that’s not organizing things and bossing people around?”
She pinched me. “Did you just call me bossy?”
“No, I just called you a boss. It’s how you get things done—you take charge. But I’m not letting you slide this time … what’s your hobby? Something unrelated to your job that you love and hate.”
“I don’t really have time for much else,” she admitted after a beat.
“Ever gardened?”
“Please, I kill everything I touch. Black thumb. I even killed an air plant, and all it needs to survive is air.”
I chuckled. “Nobody’s good at it until they learn. Come over, and I’ll show you at the greenhouse.”
A smile, slow and sweet. “All right.”
I pushed her pants over the swell of her ass, and they fell, pooling at her ankles. “Don’t wear white,” I said, angling for her lips.
She started to laugh, but I swallowed it, kissed her deep. Her lips tasted like buttercream, eager and seeking, her hands ruffling my hair as we twisted together. The silk of her bra and panties were slick, catching on my callused fingers, but she didn’t care for their well-being, and for that, I was glad. Because that silk in my hands had become one of my favorite sensations.
Deeper I kissed her, lips stretched and seamed, mouths wide, tongues searching. A moan into my mouth, rattling my tongue as it passed.