Page 79 of No Interest in Love

“You know I’m hungry whenthatdoesn’t deter me.” I nod to her filled cheeks, and she slowly opens her mouth to show me what’s in there. I groan and laugh, and I feel her shaking with laughter too, and it doesn’t gross me out or turn me off but hits a satisfying spot I’ve never experienced before.

And suddenly, my hunger is replaced with nerves.

1:32A.M.

Shay’s burger is gone in less than five minutes. And she’s not stopping, because she reaches over me, baggy shirt loose in my face as she grabs the chicken wings and places them in front of her. She moans right after every bite.

“I can leave you two alone if you want,” I tease. She moans in response. Chuckling, I go for one of those wings only to get batted in the back of the hand.

“Mine,” she says. I try again only to get growled at.

“I’ll eat all the cookies if you don’t share.”

“Bluff.”

She’s right, but I take the large sugar cookie and shove half of it in my mouth. She gasps, inhaling a piece of chicken, which I have to smack out of her.

“You okay?” I ask as she waves for a drink. My hand flattens on her back even though she doesn’t need me to give her any more pats, and I pass her a sparkling water. “Yeah, time to slow down, carnivore.”

As carefully as I can, I remove the plate of chicken from her reach. Her bottom lip slowly pulls into a frown. It’s damn adorable. Of course.

“I still get cookies,” she says.

“Just one.”

“Five.”

“One.”

“Four.”

“One.”

“You do not know how to negotiate.”

“Zero.”

She tosses her head back, hitting it on the headboard. “Fine, one. But it’s the double chocolate chunk.”

I pick it up from the plate, knowing that if I hold the entire plate out to her she’ll steal two or three more. She takes a bite, moans, then leans back with her eyes closed.

“So, food warden, did you stop by just to feed me?”

I lean back with her, letting our arms touch. “Yep.”Lie. “And to watch you stuff yourself.”

“I’m still hungry.”

I laugh. “Where the hell is it going?”

Her fingers dance along the bottom of her shirt, then she pulls it up a little. It’s enough for me to see a glimpse of that wicked tattoo…and her puffed-out stomach, which looks like one poke and it’ll explode a live chicken.

“Uh, I think I’m pregnant,” she says, then prods at her belly button. She has a belly button ring. A small piece of metal that’s driving me crazy and putting me into a daze. I have to clear my throat and dart my eyes somewhere less attractive.

“Who’s the father? The chicken or the beef?”

“It was either burger number two or chicken wing number five.”

“You already had a burger?”

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