Dawson wiped his mouth with his napkin and then inclined his head. "You didn't really think I'd be up for food poisoning, did you, love?"
Ohhhhhhh. Oh, no he did not. The simmering in my blood turned to a full-on boil as I sat there watching him continue eating his pie, realizing this had all been a fun new low on ways to torture me. And, to top it off, he'd used my chef against me? I'd bet money there wasn't another plastic container in there with my name on it, and that was what finally did it. Thaaat was what had me clenching my jaw and ready to snap.
He really should've learned it's better when I'm not forced to snap.
"You rat bastard," I said, jumping to my feet, and as I pointed at him with the spoon I still held, the ball of ice cream I'd scooped up for myself went flying off, hitting him with a loud splat square in the jaw.
Oh, shit … whoops?
Dawson sat there, stock-still, as though trying to process that he had, indeed, been hit with a flying ball of ice cream.
Damn right he had. I hadn't meant to do it, but hell, it had felt so good watching that self-satisfied expression leave his face that I dug my spoon into the ice cream again, this time flinging the ball toward his lap so that he had to jump up to wipe it off, lest he feel like having frozen balls for dessert.
"Pita, what the hell?" he said, as he worked the napkin up and down across his zipper, and then wiped at his chin. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"
"I think I have. You see, I seem to have woken up in some kind of nightmare alternate universe where I let this guy I know get the best of me at every turn. But"-I scooped some Nutella onto the spoon-"I think he needs a little reminding that I'm not that kind of girl."
And then I flung that Nutella, but this time he'd moved to the side just in time, so the hazelnut chocolate only skimmed the side of his neck instead of slapping into him, the rest landing on the wall behind him.
Dawson's jaw ticked, and then he lifted a finger to his neck, slid it across the Nutella, and sucked it into his mouth. His eyes were heated on mine as he pulled it back out slowly. "Feel better?" he growled.
"I do. I really, really do," I said, with a smile sweet as sugar. Then I dropped the spoon into the ice cream, picked up the container, and headed out of the dining room, but not before calling over my shoulder, "By the way, you're on cleanup duty."
When he didn't respond, I felt a little more than self-satisfied. Sure, throwing food was immature and not the way I'd normally play the game, but Dawson was crawling over every last nerve I had left, so a smack in his face felt damn good. Especially since I'd been kicking myself over the slightest bit of guilt I had over abruptly shutting him out when I'd thought he was being sincere the other night in my room. But tonight he'd proved that old emotions getting stirred up had no business in the present. He was a bug that needed to be squashed, and I had no problem putting my heels into it.
Honestly, had he thought he'd get the best of-
Thwack!
Something cold and gooey hit the back of my neck with a force that meant it'd been hurled across the room, and I stopped in my tracks.
No, he fucking didn't …
As I slowly turned on my heel to face him, another glob of his dessert smacked me in the chest, before sliding down my white blouse and then dropping onto the hardwood floor. My jaw fell right along with it, and then I looked up to see Dawson's superior smile, and a challenge in his darkened eyes.
"You don't look so great in buttermilk pie," he said, wiping his hands off before placing them squarely on his hips. Which was also right before I swiped the whipped cream container, flicked off the top, and charged. Yes, charged-right at him.
His brows shot up to his hairline when he saw me coming, and he raced to the other side of the table, where I'd left the rest of my "dinner." It didn't matter, though, because I was on him and spraying him down with the creamy white stuff-hah, probably a first for him-before he had a chance to retaliate.
"You've … gone … psychotic," he managed as he struggled to grab a hold of my wrists, but his hands were too slippery.
"And you, you won't leave me the hell alone," I yelled, continuing to spray the whipped cream, though it was half landing on me at this point. "Why is that? Millions of women out there begging for a night with Dirty Dick, and you insist on screwing with me?"
I slipped on some of the melted ice cream I'd lobbed his way, and took the opportunity to slide out of his grasp. After quickly kicking off my heels, I skated across the slick hardwood, out of his reach, but he stayed hot on my tail. A cold bullet to my back as I ran into the kitchen had me screeching, and I looked over my shoulder to see him balling up some more ice cream to send in my direction.
Several long strands of hair had come out of his ponytail, hanging in front of his face, all wet and sticky and not at all unattractive. Damn him. I doubted the same could be said for me at the moment.
Dawson gave me a savage smile. "You're just lucky, I guess." Then he let go of the melting ice cream in his hands, and before I could move, it smacked against my chest.
"Oh shit," I said, as the sweet cream oozed its way down into my shirt, soaking the entire front completely and sending goosebumps up my arms. "Sweet fuck, that's cold." I didn't hesitate-I undid the top buttons and then lifted the shirt up and over my head, anything to get warm.
It wasn't until I looked up that I noticed Dawson had stopped moving, one of his hands still holding the gallon of ice cream and the other dripping the remnants from his fingers onto the floor. His gaze was on me-or on my chest, rather. The nude satin didn't do a damn thing to hide how cold that shit had been; my nipples were hard and the melted ice cream had soaked through my shirt, making it completely see-through. Christ, he probably wasn't even thinking it was from the cold. No doubt he had the wrong impression, like I was excited by all this … this … whatever this was.
When he continued staring at me, I crumpled up my shirt and threw it at his head, but I missed completely and knocked over the ice cream cone display I kept on the back counter instead. It was only then that Dawson tore his eyes away, shaking his head as if to clear his brain, and then he leaned over to right the display. But when he did, a buzzing noise filled the air.
"What the hell is that?" he asked.
"You must've hit the button. Turn it off."
"Turn off your ice cream? Why is it shaking?"
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Because it's a vibrator, dumbass."
Dawson almost knocked the thing over again as he looked up at me in surprise. "You keep a vibrator in your kitchen?" he said, taking the ice cream cone out of the stand. It'd been a Christmas present from Ryleigh last year-my friends know me so well.
"What can I say? I like to keep my appliances handy no matter where I am. You can put it down now."
"Hmm." Dawson pushed the button again, sending the vibrator into fast pulses instead of the previous steady vibration. "No. I don't think I will."
"Seriously, Dawson? Now I'll have to sterilize it."
He pressed on the button again, and the vibration went high to low like a rollercoaster. He looked at it curiously and toyed with his bottom lip as he stalked my way. "I wonder which of these settings my naughty Pita is the most fond of?"
"That would be none of your damn business for five hundred, Alex."
He continued forward, as I backed away. I was out of whipped cream, the ice cream was out of reach, and I had nothing left to-
The Nutella.
I darted for the jar on the dining room table, but Dawson got there first, caging me in so that my ass hit the edge, and he took hold of the jar.
Great. Just fucking great.
"I think you're wrong," he said. "It's exactly my business." Then he reached over and flipped off the lights with the bottom of the cone, which he also turned off. We were plunged into darkness, the only light source coming from the kitchen beyond, and the only sound coming from the rapid rises and falls of our chests. As he settled in front of me, he placed the items he carried on the table and his hands went to the waist of my pants. My breath hitched as his thumbs came up to flirt with the bare skin on my stomach.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked, and I hated the way my voice slightly shook as I said it. My fingers came up to rest on his chest, and I pushed him back, though he refused to move farther than a few inches away. His left hand came up to grab both of my wrists, and then he leaned in again, his other hand going to the table to brace himself-or, at least, I'd thought that was what he was doing.
Instead, he lifted up and held my gaze as two of his fingers smeared Nutella on the side of my neck. I gasped, but before I could find the words to protest, his head dipped to the side and then his tongue licked a warm, wet path along the same line. Instantly, my body reacted, unwanted tremors racing up my spine, giving me away. Even if he hadn't had a hold of my arms, I was so stunned by the action that I wouldn't have been able to move anyway.