“I don’t know,” she says around a bite of chocolate and peanut butter. “We didn’t go camping, and the few times I’ve had s’mores have been at bonfires, and we just do the basics.”
I shake my head and turn my attention to the marshmallow I’m heating over the small propane stove. I made a table out of a long piece of wood that rests on either side of the truck bed. We’re sitting on the air mattress, propped against the pillows resting on the cab of the truck, with the ‘table’ pulled across our laps. The stove, the s’mores ingredients, and bowls of plain and white cheddar popcorn are spread in front of us along with a thermos of hot chocolate—yes, despite the eighty-degree August night—and a thermos of lemonade. I’ve also got water and soda in the cooler on the tailgate.
Is it overkill? Probably. But I don’t know what Mia likes. Yet.
I’ve already figured out that she prefers sweet snacks to salty and that she likes natural disaster movies. She chose Twisters over the rom com Anyone But You, but she did approve of Glen Powell being the star of both. And she mentioned we could watch them both tonight.
Which means she’s all for staying longer.
Which made me happier than I’d expected.
I intend to know all her preferences, but knowing everything about her will take time.
That’s called dating.
Yep.
It sure fucking is.
Which means we’re going to have to talk about what this is going to be and how we’re going to let people know.
Because I want to date Mia Hansen.
Publicly.
We’re only a third of the way through our first-ever movie together, and I know I want to keep doing this for a very long time.
Forever.
I ignore that word flitting through my brain. That’s an overreaction. There’s no reason to think in those terms right now. We don’t have to label this.
I just want to watch a lot more movies with her, eat a lot more snacks with her, and kiss her a lot more.
“If I’m honest,” I tell her. “I would be happy with just the toasted marshmallows.”
“It is hard to beat those,” she agrees.
I move the perfectly golden marshmallow away from the flame and pull it from the end of the skewer.
Suddenly, Mia’s hand is wrapped around my wrist, and she pulls my hand toward her mouth.
I, of course, let her. If she wants any part of my body near her mouth, I’m on board.
With an impish smile, she takes the marshmallow from my fingers with her teeth. But the crispy outer layer pulls off, and she has to close her lips around the gooey melted marshmallow inside to keep it from dripping. That means her lips also close around my fingertips.
That also means heat and lust immediately shoot through me.
My gaze locks on her mouth. And my cock jumps as her tongue drags over my fingers, licking the melted sugar from my skin.
I reach over and push the long board-slash-makeshift table away from us. I turn more fully toward Mia and cup the back of her head. Her big green eyes are locked on mine as she licks the rest of the marshmallow from my fingers. I drag my wet index finger over her bottom lip, and her breath catches.
“The tornadoes rip up a lot of shit, but they survive, the experiment is a success, and they fall in love,” I tell her. We’re watching Twisters.
She swallows. “Okay. Why are you telling me that?”
I give her a slow smile. “Because we’re going to miss the rest of the movie.”
“Oh.”
