Forgiving Lies
Page 41

“Damn, that’s a good hickey.”
Oh, right. That’s how.
I frowned down at the fully mixed batter. My poor not-yet-made pancakes . . . it was fun while it lasted. The next time he turned to check the skillet, I pulled the whisk out and set it gently on the counter. I really wasn’t worried about messes right now. Grabbing the bowl with both hands, I stepped right up behind him, reached my arms up high, and tipped it over. The sense of glee I got as I watched his entire body stiffen and all that batter fall onto his head was kind of alarming. No wonder he’d been so proud of his suction-cup hickey. I was damn proud of this mess.
When only a little dribble was falling from the bowl, I brought the bowl away from his head, set it on the counter, and had only taken two steps when he grabbed me around my waist and hauled me back to him. The movement made him lose his footing on the now-slippery tile and we both crashed down to the floor.
Quickly getting up on my hands and knees, I slip-crawled a few feet before my legs went out and I fell back to the floor. Kash dragged me back by my legs and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even attempt to try to crawl away as he flipped me over on my back and slipped toward me until he was covering my body.
I laughed harder and wiped at his cheek, which was completely covered. “You, uh, got a little something there.”
His eyes were silver as he growled, “Now do you feel better?”
“Much!”
“I probably deserved that.”
“A little bit.” My laughter finally quieted and I smiled widely at him.
“Rachel . . .” His voice dropped and the huskiness alone caused my breathing to deepen.
When I realized that our bodies were flush, mine started warming again, and my eyelids fluttered shut when he brought one hand up to cup my cheek.
When he repeated my name, I could feel his breath against my lips and they parted in anticipation. His hand left my cheek and he leaned closer to whisper in my ear, “Your hickey looks really lonely.”
Wait. What?! My eyes flew open just as he wiped a hand covered in batter across my face. “You son of a bitch!”
Kash laughed loudly and attempted to move some of the batter so it wasn’t in my eyes.
“I will end you,” I said, making him laugh harder. “I hate you.”
“Don’t lie, Sour Patch, you love me.”
He was joking, I knew he was joking—but my heart still took off at his assumption. Kash must have noticed the change somehow, because he immediately stopped laughing and his gray eyes turned silver.
“Rachel?”
“I, uh—we should clean this up.” I attempted to slide out from under him, but he kept his weight on me and brought his hand up to my cheek again. I stopped moving beneath him and locked up my body as his gaze held mine.
His silver eyes fell over my face as his head inched down, and in the torturous seconds where his lips hovered over mine again, I told myself a dozen times I needed to push him away.
But needing and wanting are two completely different things.
Kash closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine, and in that instant, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged and my body relaxed between him and the tile floor. He parted my mouth with his own and a soft whimper left me when our tongues met and moved against each other. Kissing my bottom lip softly, he pulled back a fraction of an inch to look into my eyes again and smiled before leaning back in.
The door burst open and we jolted away from each other as much as our positions allowed as Mason ran into the apartment, a loud war cry following him into my room, where it abruptly cut off.
Kash’s chest moved roughly as we both came back to reality, and after a heavy silence he turned his head and called out, “Mase?”
I blew out the breath I’d been holding and refused to look back up at Kash as I silently berated myself for my actions over the last few minutes. That wasn’t supposed to have happened, and it couldn’t happen again. We both knew that.
My inner scolding stopped abruptly when Mason slowly walked over to the kitchen with a Nerf gun in hand. In a black wife-beater and cargo pants, with a bandanna around his forehead . . . he almost looked like Rambo.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Kash asked as he cautiously lifted himself off me.
Mase looked down at himself, then back up. “I saw you coming in here on my way back from my run with your gun. I thought we were gonna have a Nerf fight.”
Oh. Dear. God.
Even with the tension coming from Kash and me, I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter until I was crying and snorting uncontrollably.
IT WAS NIGHTS like this I wished I didn’t have a job.
The bar had been slammed for the first half of my shift. Normally, I wouldn’t have complained; it made the shift go by faster and it meant more tips for me. But one of my tables during the rush was a couple with their toddler who thought it was hilarious to throw food off the table and at me, as well as continuously knock over her parents’ drinks. You’d think maybe they’d—I don’t know—move the drinks away from the baby. Or feed the baby rather than let her have her own plate right in front of her. Or maybe, just maybe, apologize for the fact that I was now covered in sour cream and refried beans instead of sitting there arguing with each other about who was better at playing Angry Birds. Just a thought, but what did I know? I was just the food-covered waitress with a smile on her face. That, added to the fact that Kash and I hadn’t mentioned our kiss once, and that Eve had decided to remind me of original sin by bringing me my monthly gift, and I now had cramps bad enough to bring Chuck Norris down . . . equaled one incredibly grumpy me.