“Your turn.” Despite his tongue darting out to lick some frosting off his smiling lips, his tone is dead serious. And of course I hesitate, unsure if he’s losing it but then again with that smile on his lips . . . I know he’s not.
“Why? Can you just tell me why you want me to smash a cupcake in my hand—shitty tasting or not?” My eyes are wide, but my hands are itching to try it. Lips fighting the smile I can’t seem to help when I’m around him.
“Because spontaneity is the best kind of adventure,” he repeats the mantra from the other night. “And because it’s a grudge-buster.” He shrugs as if he’s making perfect sense and hopefully to himself, he is.
I stare at him long and hard, realizing he set this all this up with the resort employee delivering them to the spot for us and then leaving when she saw us. And if he’s gone through this much trouble, I decide to go for it.
Within seconds, my hands are a mass of frosting and cake. The fallout from the force of my smash has resulted in an equal number of crumbs landing on Hayes as they have me. And while I may not be sure why I’ve just smashed a cupcake between my hands, I’m not going to lie when I say that it did feel pretty damn good. Cathartic.
“Should we do another one?” Hayes asks, as he looks down to where he’s trying to remove a large chunk of chocolate frosting from his chest and only manages to smear it further.
I could help you get that.
With my lips.
And my tongue.
Holy hell, the thoughts have me shifting to abate the sudden ache of want in my core.
When his hand stills mid motion, I glance up from where I’m staring at it on his chest to find he’s caught me watching. There’s a flash of something darker in his eyes mixed with a glimpse of desire. The words on my tongue suddenly feel like molasses.
I blink my eyes and try to refocus on what he asked me. Do I want to smash another one? Yes, for obvious reasons. And no, because he’s trying to distract me for some reason.
“No. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Why would I hold a grudge against you, Hayes?” My wits have been restored. So long as I keep my eyes on his. Off his body. And not on his lips.
“I lied to you, Ships.”
Now there’s a definitive way to distract me from thinking about his body.
“Okay.” I stretch the word out as I wrack my brain for what he’s referring to.
“When I walked into Sweet Cheeks that first day, yes, I was picking up the order for my mom, but I lied about that being the only reason.”
“Hayes.” His name is a warning I don’t want to have to give.
“Hear me out.” His chocolate-smeared palms are up in the defensive position. I glare. “I came in with every intention of telling you I had talked to Ryder and knew what had happened. But when I saw you . . . shit, Say, I fumbled. It’d been years since I’d seen you. And when I did, everything about what used to be us—our friendship, our love, our connection—rushed right back like it was yesterday. Then you assumed. And I saw how hurt you were. How much your pride had been fucked with by Mitch and the jerks you thought were your friends. I heard it in your voice. It killed me, Say. Made me think of how bad I’d hurt you before and knew I couldn’t hurt you again. And then after I heard you talk about Mitch, about why you walked away, I realized what you needed more than anything was honesty. It seems you’ve already faced enough on your own, and the least I could do was be honest too. So, yeah, I chickened out that first day I saw you. Thought if you told me on your own terms then I’d feel better about it, and only then would I do this if you asked.”
His words fade off and I’m not sure what to feel. I want to be mad at him. Want to feel embarrassed that he’s known all this time, and yet I can’t be. How lucky am I to have a friend willing to see how much I was hurting and not want to add to it?
“Sorry.” He speaks the word with such weight that I know the apology is for so much more than just not telling me.
“Thank you.” The two words are a whisper while the new cupcake in my hand taunts loudly to be smashed. On Hayes.
Hayes nods his head, our eyes still locked, but my thoughts are completely consumed with the idea.
“Hey,” I say, voice soft, lips curved in mischief. “No grudges.” He lifts his eyebrows as if he’s shocked I’ve forgiven him so easily, and then he gasps when I land the first confectionary blow. One beautifully decorated chocolate ganache cupcake is smashed on the exact location I’d thought about licking only moments before.
He’s silent as he looks down to where my hand is still pressed against him, chocolate frosting the only barrier between us. I grind it in, slowly slide it down his abs, and then lift my hand to bring a coated finger to my mouth. His eyes lift from the aftermath of my assault to watch me wrap my lips around my finger and suck the frosting off it.