“Why did you start?” Another question left unanswered. She blinks once, and when her blue eyes look up, I ease myself away from her in the opposite direction. She notes the new distance between us. “I’m sorry, I get personal. I’m nosy. Sorry.” Her apology is authentic, but it’s not necessary. She has no reason to apologize for my personal issues. There’s so much of my history I’ve learned to block out of my world, and there’s no reason for me to revisit it out loud. Inside my head those demons are free to float around, but the idea of the words actually leaving my lips is terrifying. There’s such a realness to talking about Penny, and about what happened, that it scares the living hell out of me.
“I wish I could be more like you. Able to shut up and forget things.” She stares at her pancakes, cutting them into pieces. “But I gotta say I also wish I knew more about you, about your history. It’s safe to say I fall for guys fast. I become weak searching for love or lust. Any emotion, really. But it’s different with you, Kayden. With you it’s hard to find the weakness inside of me. With you I feel strong. So, I simply wish I knew more about you, because you make me stronger.”
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“Anything. It doesn’t have to be personal at all. I just want to know more.”
I cut my blueberry pancakes as she forks her chocolate chips, and we both open our mouths, feeding each other a bite. She arches a mischievous smile and I laugh. Then we each lift our plates and switch our pancakes around.
“I believed in Santa Claus until I was ten.” My confession doesn’t seem too thrilling, but her smile is so wide that I’m almost certain I can feel my face heating up from her joy.
“Are you trying to tell me that Santa isn’t real? You bite your tongue with those satanic lies!”
She’s wide awake now and more sexdorable than ever. “I also didn’t vote during the last election.”
“Un-American and Un-Santa. I’m so happy you’re only my made-up boyfriend. Because clearly this relationship would never work. Come on, what else?”
“I may or may not have thought it was ridiculously cute when you farted in your sleep.”
Her hands rush to cover the horrified expression on her face. “Shut up!” She shoves me in the arm and I cannot stop laughing. “Shut up! Are you serious?” Nodding, I continue eating. She shoves me again, and her cheeks are now the color of a tomato. “Did it smell bad?”
“Kind of like old burritos.”
She starts to giggle, and then she bursts out into laughter, her head flies back, and she snorts. Again. I’ve never been so happy to hear snorts. “That makes sense because I had tacos for lunch.” It’s weird, sitting here, talking about her farting. Most girls would be extremely embarrassed, and she was for a moment, until she turned around and started cracking up at herself. Her laughter makes me want to join in. Jules Stone is somewhat addicting.
I stare at her lips as she chews her last bites of pancake. I move closer to her, mere millimeters away from her face, and without thought, I run my tongue against the side of her mouth. Her body stills, and her doe eyes widen in a sudden shock. I pull back quickly. “Sorry, there was some syrup.” Moving her finger to the plate, she wipes up some syrup, and smears it across my cheek. Then she does it again, only this time it runs down my neck. When her tongue strokes my cheek, it takes every ounce of my willpower not to lift her up and carry her back to the bedroom. Her tongue retreats back into her mouth momentarily before she bends forward to lick the syrup from my neck. Her sticky fingers brush against my lips, and I lick them clean, sucking gently on the tips.
“Let’s go build a snowman.” Her random comment is the complete opposite of what I want to do.
“No.”
“Let’s go build a snowman,” she repeats, standing from her stool and pushing her body against mine.
I laugh. If I don’t laugh, I’ll kiss her and then she might realize that I want to kiss her as Kayden, not as an actor in a make-believe scene. “No.”
With that, she turns those irresistible, pleading puppy-dog eyes on me, and her bottom lip drops to a pout. She places her hands on my chest and whimpers, “Please, made-up boyfriend who I am made-up in love with? Pleeeeze?!”
How can I say no? How can I turn down the pouty lip and the puppy-dog eyes? She knows I will give in. She rushes back to the bedroom, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I follow, and gives me the matching hat, gloves, and scarf she packed for me.
Yup. Matching hats, gloves, and scarves for both of us. The hat has some weird fur on it, and when it goes on my head, I’m pretty sure I’ve just lost at least seven points on the manliness scale.
“You’re so cute.” She grins, looking at my ridiculous accessories.
“ You don’t call guys cute. You don’t call them adorable and you don’t call them cute,” I argue as I step into my boots.
“Even if it’s sexute?” She pauses, tapping her finger against her nose. “Okay, so sexy and cute don’t work as well as sexy and adorable do, but still. You look like the type of guy I would love to roll in the snow with.”