No surprise there.
“What kind of kiss?”
He snorted. “The French kind. Duh.”
“In the mouth?” I asked him.
“Yeah, that’s how it usually goes,” he mocked me.
“With a tongue?”
He gulped. “Yeah.”
I cocked my eyebrows. “Lots of tongue? A bit of teeth, maybe?”
For once, he was speechless.
“Here?” I asked him. “Now?”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then, his eyes narrowed.
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
I grinned. “There you are, my smart little Luz. For a moment, I thought you were gone.”
He flipped me off, glaring at me.
“I really wanted to kiss you for your birthday,” I said, trying hard not to laugh. “But your lips are too bruised for a proper kiss.”
He growled in anger and threw a cushion at me.
I dodged it, chuckled, and left the room. Then, I took a shower.
Of the colder variety.
Chapter 3
And Who the Fuck Are You
Luz
The doorbell woke me up, followed by some kind of infernal noise. I blinked against the sun streaming through the window and looked around. A pool of saliva on the pillow told me I was drooling in my sleep, and I whined internally.
Way to go, Luz. So sexy of you.
I looked around for witnesses to my embarrassing bodily fluid display, but the room was empty. It made me anxious. Was I alone? Bazooka wouldn’t leave me alone without telling me, would he? Nah. But where was he?
At the sound of a loud thump somewhere in the apartment, I scrambled out of bed. I peeked through the door that was ajar, and tiptoed down the empty hall, only to find myself in a largeroom. Living room? Dining room? Both? The space was empty apart from a small, albeit seemingly fully functioning kitchen. Then, Bazooka appeared while putting on a T-shirt and almost gave me a heart attack. Bulging biceps, huge pecs, abs of steel, a line of dark hair ending in a thin line below his belly button…God, help me. It told me that staying here would be a bad idea, despite my wishes. No, it would kill me.
“Morning,” he said, unaware of my troubles.
“Morning,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes.Ow!It hurt me to do that.Don’t do that again. Don’t lift your hand again. Do nothing.
While I was repeating my mantra for the day, Bazooka disappeared in the hallway. When he reappeared, he was pushing what seemed like a sofa into theroom. It was a big, comfy-looking piece of furniture, and something I would choosefor myself, which meant he had good taste. Not just looks. Not just abs and muscles. Good taste, too. Not fucking fair.
“What is that?” I asked him as he pushed the sofa toward the wall.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
