Page 111 of Lace 'em Up

Thirty-One

King

“Good God,” Cam says, shoving the oversized apple turnover into his mouth with all the grace and manners of a farmyard animal—something I only know because I’m doing the same with my apple-cinnamon donut.

And seriously, I love the fall.

Apples of all varieties.

Empty calories and refined sugar and loads of carbs accompanying them.

Fucking chef’s kiss.

“If the woman wasn’t married”—Molly, the owner who opened a chain of restaurants, cafes, and bakeries around the Bay Area—“I’d get on my knees and beg her to marry me,” I say through another huge bite.

“I think you might have better luck if she wasn’t married and you got on your knees and begged to do something else to her,” Rory says innocently from next to me.

Cam freezes.

I glance at her with narrowed eyes.

Rome’s mouth hitches up at the edges.

Chrissy…well, the woman who knows the other woman who’s joined us in our pursuit of all these empty calories and delicious carbs the best, starts cackling.

Rory, meanwhile, takes a dainty bite of her pastry and smiles like she’s an innocent angel.

“Liar,” I murmur, leaning in to whisper the word in her ear. “She’d be begging me.”

“Who says?” she asks, but I don’t miss the little shiver, the way gooseflesh prickles on her skin.

“I say.” I flick out my tongue, taste the sweetness of her and smirk when she squirms in her seat. “And I say that you want me on my knees later,” I murmur, nuzzling at that oh so sensitive spot just behind her ear.

Am I aware that everyone at the table is watching?

That they’ve seen Rory still wearing the ring I bought her? That they know this shit is supposed to be a ruse to get my mom off my back?

Yes to all.

Do I currently give one fuck that what I’m doing is contrary to all of that?

Nope.

Not one fucking bit.

I press my lips to her skin and she squirms again. I clock another shiver wracking through her frame, know it’s because of me, because of my touch. Know that I can get her to do it again later—multiple times later—then straighten, return to my donut.

I know that I’m smirking like an asshole, proud like a caveman of the reaction I coaxed from her.

And I don’t give a fuck.

Same as I don’t give a fuck about the knowing look that Chrissy and Rome exchange.

Probably because the truth of what I feel for Rory is there in my belly, my heart, my soul.

She’s different.

I can be different with her.