Page 102 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
“Unca George has legs.” Mavis was already sticky with her own treat, so I knew the one George had—in his words—“ruined” was his own. She frowned at me.
“You’re right, my bad,” I replied. Patrick was eyeing the marshmallow I’d melted for him like he was fully prepared to chomp it right off the stick.
“Why the hell would I do that?” George inquired as though I hadn’t just been cut down by a toddler. “When I already know I’m right?” We reached for graham crackers simultaneously, and George unwrapped an extra piece of chocolate, handed it to me without being asked, and turned back to his own task.
“If you’re as right as you say you are, then you have nothing to lose,” I nodded toward the charred lump of sugar at the end of his stick. “Put your money where your mouth is, Blondie. Try it. Then tell me I’m wrong. Hell,we can even make it a wager.”
“You don’t have anything I want,” George muttered. I arched a brow at him, and his cheeks went bright red. Apparently I did, in fact, have something he wanted. I got the feeling it wasn’t something that was appropriate conversation for the present toddling company.
I licked my lips, and our eyes locked, before George’s gaze darted away.
Something had changed between us today.
He felt it.
I felt it.
We allll felt it.
Like a switch had flipped.
“Try it,” I urged, pinching the marshmallow on the stick between the cracker and chocolate I’d set up. I pulled it free, the white sugary substance sticking to my fingers. The graham cracker slid a bit as I passed it to Patrick, but he didn’t mind. One-track mind, that one. His dark skin gleamed in the firelight as he munched on his treat, lapping sugar off his fingers like it was his mission to devour every bite. “Here.” I offered him a napkin and he took it, clutching it tight in his chubby fist.
“I don’t know…” George dutifully mirrored my movements and made his own s’more, despite his protests.
“Wanna share?” It was a pretty delicious-looking snack, if I did say so myself. The marshmallow oozed out the sides, and without overthinking, I angled my head toward it, mouth open expectantly. Without protest, other than a pinched expression, George brought his own dessert to my lips.
I hadn’t actuallyexpectedGeorge to let me take a bite. I was pushing him, like was normal and natural between us. But he had surprised me. He was constantly surprising me. A fact, in itself, that should’ve meant I should not be surprised.
Parting my lips, I clamped my teeth down, my heart skittering. I was so close to his fingers, if I wanted, I could’ve licked them. But even I knew thatwasn’t appropriate. So instead, I focused on the food. Crunching through the graham cracker, I sighed happily, eyes drifting shut. Okay, fine. I was going to tease a little.
But just a little.
Licking the sticky, melted marshmallow from my lips, I groaned. “Sofuckinggood.” When I pulled back, opening my eyes, George was staring. And fuck, was that gratifying. “Okay, now it’s your turn. C’mon. Prove me wrong.”
“But you just bit it,” George protested, squinting at his contaminated food with a frown. “Alex cooties.” He was making fun of what I’d said earlier. I snorted. Oh, well. Who was I to judge if he wanted to hand me the rest and make himself a new one?
Of course he wouldn’t want to put his on there t?—
Oh.
George tentatively brought the s’more to his lips, expression tentative. He hesitated, blond brow furrowed, his eyes trained on the flickering fire. His free arm was wrapped firmly around Mavis, keeping her steady as he became lost in his own thoughts. And then, because he was nothing if not unpredictable, George took a bite.
He chewed.
He swallowed.
George’s eyes went wide, sticky white smeared across his lips as he turned from the fire to look at me. Christ, what a mouth it was. So pretty. Especially when sticky.
“Seeeee?” I urged. “So much better.”
George chewed deliberately, reaching up to brush the crumbs off his lips. “I never thought I’d say this—but I think you’re right. The…um. The texture is better.”
“See?”
“It’s not…even burnt tasting?” George was shocked, obviously. “And it’s softer.”
“Right?” I beamed at him. “Now you know why I like my men like I like my s’mores.”
