Page 66 of Give & Take

“Okay.” I say it like this is no big deal. “If that’s what you want, Sunshine.” The hook in the roof gives out a worrying groan as we sway, but I ignore it. There’s no chance in hell I’m getting off this swing.

Lana lets a beat pass, then whispers, “I love it when you call me that.”

“What, Sunshine?”

“Yes.”

I’m fucking delighted to hear this. I try hard not to grin like a fool.

“It’s ironic,” she says. “Because clearly I’m the grump when it comes to you.”

I shake my head. “That’s not why I call you that.”

Lana looks surprised.

“I call you that because there’s sunshine inside of you, Lana. It’s just behind these blinds you pull so tight.”

She gifts me with a little smile.

“See?”

She sighs.

“Bet I can make you smile again.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

I walk my fingers like legs over the cushion between us, up onto her knee. She lets out this soft little laugh that’s so beautiful my chest hurts.

I keep going. I do an exaggerated bend of my knuckle-knees, then leap up onto her forearm.

She laughs.

I see how the little peach fuzz there rises at my touch. I soak that in. Then I saunter onto her fingers. I nudge her hand over, palm up. Her fingers are curled into a soft fist.

“The thing about your blinds,” I say softly, “is that sometimes”—I pull open her thumb, then her index finger, then the middle—“you just need a little help getting them open.”

Next to me, Lana takes a breath as I trace a circle in her palm with my finger.

Then I catch her eye. “I’d like to watch you, Lana.”

Her hand tenses in mine. “What?”

“At work.” I smirk. “You’ve got your mind in the gutter, Sunshine.”

As she protests, I press my fingers, all five of them, into her palm. I slide each of mine between eachof hers, taking ownership over them, forcing them open just a little wider for me.

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I like it in the gutter.”

Lana’s breath hitches.

I slide my hand down into hers in a possessive stretch, wrapping my fingers over the back of her hand. It’s small in mine. So small and pliable. “I want to see you,” I say, “when you don’t know I’m there. See how perfect you are when you’re not so… on guard.”

Lana’s breathing is shallow. I don’t know if it’s from my words or the way I’ve taken over her hand in her lap. Maybe it’s my knuckles brushing against her inner thighs. Whatever it is, I fucking love the way each little move I make has an exact physiological response from her.

“Good luck with that,” she whispers. “I’ll be able to see you there.”

My thumbnail grazes her soft inner thigh. “And what happens when you see me?”

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