like lemons and sugar the second I open the door. Tatum’s running around, half-naked, with my baseball hat on backward, and screaming at the top of her lungs for the cat who is refusing to come out. I can’t say I blame Olaf for hiding.
Making my way into the kitchen, I find Sydney putting the final touches on a lemon pie for me. At least I hope it’s for me.
I come up behind her, my mouth on the exposed curve of her neck. “You made me pie?”
Turning, she wraps her arms around my shoulders. She smiles, so bright and happy for me though deep down, I know there’s sadness, too, because we know what this means. “It’s a special occasion.”
I refuse to let go and hold tighter, staring at the whip cream on top and wishing I could lick it off her body like we did last week. “Not that special.”
She works her hands between us and cups my cheeks. “Don’t downplay this.”
“It’s hard not to,” I admit, my voice shaking, but she doesn’t catch on. “If I don’t, I’ll probably burst into tears that this is actually happening.” She thinks I’m joking, but I’m not.
Facing me, she points her finger into my chest. “I have two rules, bigs.”
Leaning back into the island, I motion her forward with a wave, grateful for the break in the heaviness weighing down on us. “Lay ’em on me.”
“No mullets and no mustache.”
I raise an eyebrow, entertained that she didn’t play the card most women do. “I thought you were gonna say no women.”
She winks. “That too.”
“That’s a lot of demands for someone who claims she’s ‘not dating’ me.”
Pressing her lips together, she fights back laughter. “Excuse me, but did you just air quote the words not dating.”
I smirk, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth. “I did. To get my point across.”
Dipping her finger in the whip cream on the pie, she licks it. “And what’s your point?”
Reaching forward, I tug on the front of her shirt and yank her into me. “That you won’t date me.”
“That’s not true.”
“I sleep in your bed every night. We’ve been out to dinner seven times and to the movies twice with Tatum. Remember, you spilled a drink on my dick, and I sat the entire movie wet.”
Her eyes widen because she spent the remainder of the night teased by me with my tongue on her clit until she couldn’t take it any longer, and I finally let her come. “I said I was sorry.”
“Still….”
She raises an eyebrow, her finger falling from her lips. “Still what?”
I dart my eyes from the sweet cream on her lip to hers. “You won’t acknowledge we’re dating.” I lean forward and trap her, refusing to allow her to get away from me. “In interviews, when I’m asked if I have a girlfriend, I’m going to tell people yes. I’m on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Just so you know, I told them I was dating someone.”
“I know. I saw the article.” Her expression softens, her lips curling up into a smile but still, I see the fear in her eyes. “That was sweet of you.”
I dart my eyes to the pie. “And you made me a lemon pie, so I’m going to assume I’m your boyfriend now. Because of the pie.”
She lets out a chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully. “Making a pie doesn’t mean you’re my boyfriend. I made Sadie one last week.”
Growling, I press my body into hers, my hands traveling from the counter to her shoulders. Grabbing a handful of her hair, I yank and force her to look at me. “Don’t be making anyone pies but me. They’re mine.”
Her eyes find mine, and though the fear in them is still very much there, she offers me what I want, in a way, when she whispers, “I won’t if you promise not to grow a mullet. I don’t like them.”
I kiss her neck and bite down on her collarbone. “Then tell me I’m your boyfriend.”
“Cason….”
“I’m being serious here. I… love you.” I hit her with it. I wasn’t going to throw the words out there so casually, but I do. Deal with it.
By the look on her face, she thinks I’m joking. But the words hit her right where I want them to. Her heart. She blinks, her breathing increases, and the smile widens. I don’t wait for her to say it back before I kiss her.
But then again, I want to hear it. Not that she loves me,