Page 65 of The Love Playbook

“Sounds like . . . not my problem,” I chirp, suddenly happier and hungrier than I was moments before.

Moving closer, I reach out and snatch the bag from his clenched grip, only for him to form a ball with his empty fist as I peer into the bag.

I grunt at what looks like the biggest, densest cinnamon rolls with cream cheese frosting I’ve ever seen. My absolute favorite indulgence.

With a skip in my step, I take the bag to my bed and sink down, only for Chris to follow, stalking toward me until he’s towering over me like my second shadow. “Take it off, Lettie, I swear, or I’ll take it off for you.”

I risk a glance up at him and stifle a gasp.

His normally light blue eyes peer down at me, every bit as dark and turbulent as the sea. He leans down, his face beside mine as he whispers into the shell of my ear, “And something tells me you won’t like my methods.”

I shiver, hating the ball of heat fisting at the base of my spine before I curse my racing heart and spear him with a look.

Our eyes lock, and it takes everything in me to keep my gaze steady on his when he licks his lips.

Several seconds pass that feel like hours with neither of us wavering.

My heart pounds, echoing inside the walls of my chest, begging me to test him?to see exactly how he plans on getting my top off while my inner voice screams at me to cave.

He licks his lips again, an indescribable sound rumbling in the back of his throat as he very slowly sets the drink tray on my dresser, then turns to me. Leaning down, placing both of his arms on either side of me, he forces me back further onto the bed and brings his mouth only inches from mine.

Panic claws up my spine, warning me to surrender.

The kiss from last night flashes in my head like a warning.

I’m not sure I can survive another, so I release a shaky breath and roll on my side. “Fine.” I huff out as he pulls back.

Lifting the hoodie up over my head, I tear it off, tossing it onto my desk chair. “Better, you big baby?”

Chris grins, his gaze sliding to the tiny camisole I’m wearing. “Much.”

I growl and remove the biggest cinnamon roll from the bag. “You’re unreal.”

“I know, thanks.” He winks, and it makes me want to strangle him.

“You can go now,” I say, motioning for the door, but his big stupid muscley body is already sinking down beside me on my bed. “You came. You delivered my breakfast. I’m good.” I stare at him with an arched brow, willing him to leave.

Chris snatches the bag from my hands, completely ignoring me. “You can’t eat both of these.”

“Who says?” I yank the bag back, but he already has a roll.

“One alone is the size of your head. Oh, and your dirty sugar water is up there,” he says, motioning toward the to-go cups on my dresser.

I scoff and rise to my feet, grabbing my cup. “Like your burned bean water is so much better.”

“There’s no question. Coffee is far superior to tea. Ask nearly anyone,” he says, his mouth full of cinnamon roll.

“Barbarian,” I mutter, then, “Why are you here?”

I frown as I settle back onto my bed, making sure there’s plenty of space between us, and take a bite of my roll.

He shrugs. “I wanted to bring my girl breakfast.”

“I amnotyour girl.”

“Yet.” He winks again, and my stomach flutters.

“I see your delusions are alive and well this morning,” I say, taking a sip of my chai, and I have to admit, quality chai tea and gooey cinnamon rolls are a far superior breakfast than the overcooked eggs in the dining hall.

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