Summer Breeze Kisses - Addison Moore Page 0,124

being a pervert for like one second? I’m talking about the building. I know my way around a donut shop, and that’s like the Taj Mahal of deep-fried ooey gooey goodness.”

“Ooey gooey goodness?” Now it’s his turn to make a face as he pulls into the nearest parking stall.

“Let me guess. Another little quip you like to hear in bed?”

“Now who’s the pervert?”

We head inside, and, to my satisfaction, I was right. This is the biggest, baddest donut shop in the East, because not only is it large enough to house every donut ever consumed by humankind but the deep fryer runs along a plate glass window, allowing the customers a peek into the mysterious donut making process.

“Where do we start?” He bounces on his heels, and I can’t help but note the fact he looks boyishly intrigued, which at the moment is a good thing because the thirteen-year-old in me is just as eager to be on this spontaneous field trip.

“How about in dough town?” We head over to where the proofers are set up near the front and follow along as raw donuts are spit onto a conveyer belt of a fryer. About halfway through, the donuts flip over, and finally down at the end, each golden brown confection runs under a waterfall of warm, sugary glaze.

“Crap,” he whimpers, and about three different mothers give him dirty looks. Of course, those dirty looks morph into wide-eyed come hither, lip-licking forms of sexual advancement. All of which I’m sure Sexy Rexy here is used to.

We head up to the counter, and I put in an order for two-dozen fresh, hot, glazed.

“Add two more,” Rex says, pulling out his credit card.

“Four dozen boxes coming right up.” The young, lanky boy behind the counter doesn’t even blink. I’m betting he hears such ludicrous orders all the livelong day, and why not? They practically have you hypnotized to make absurd purchases after subjecting you to their entrancing conveyer belt voodoo.

“That’s right.” Rex pays for our purchase before I can protest.

“Hey—I’m supposed to be paying for these. I’m making restitution, remember? I feel like I’m ruining your Friday night.”

“Oh, you’ll pay for this, all right.” We step aside as we wait for our boxes.

“If this involves you sticking your tongue into a sticky, sweet hole that happens to be attached to my body, you can forget it.”

A whole new crowd of mothers turns around and sizes up both Rex and me. The shorter one with a bob gives me a sly thumbs-up. Perverts, all of them. But I give her a little wink back.

“I was thinking something a little more creative—and wholesome.” He gives a tight smile to the peanut gallery before returning those serious eyes back to mine. “A movie at my place.”

After successfully scarfing down one box of hot, glazed donuts, and many miles later, we pull into the driveway of a small clapboard scholastic retreat otherwise known as Rex’s place.

“So this is the sex lab,” I say as he unlocks the door and lets us in.

“This is where the magic happens.”

The scent of stale coffee and a thin trail of his cologne are the first to greet us.

“If by magic you mean disillusionment and cheesy sleight of hand, then I believe you.”

“All right, Queen of the Donut.” He takes the boxes from me and sets them onto his coffee table. It’s surprisingly clean inside, considering he had no clue company was coming. Dark wood floors complement the sparse white walls, save for the overgrown television taking up the entire north side of the house. “Make yourself at home.”

“I love it.” I gasp at how aesthetically clean the place looks. The dark floors have nary a footprint on them, and there aren’t any notable dust bunnies lurking in the corner. I know for a fact dark floors are the hardest to keep clean because the slightest bit of dust creates snowy tracks before you know it. His furniture looks new. Espresso-colored leather sofas and a black coffee table all add to the modern clean look he seems to be shooting for. There’s an expensive appeal to his furnishings, yet they’re understated and not too showy, a lot like Rex himself. As much as I’ve wanted to peg him as the spoiled rich boy, he’s broken down just about every stereotype I tried to shove him in.

Rex points the remote at the one-eyed beast against the wall, and it flicks to life, raining a supernova of light over the tiny living room.