Page 93 of I Knead You Tonight

“Youtry to jump my bones too,” I defend, twisting off the ice cream lid.

And he might think I don’t notice, but I am well aware he always initiates something sexual whenever I bring up him trying physical therapy again.

I let it slide, because he won’t go until he’s ready to go.

I’ve said what I needed to say about it. Pushing him will do no good.

“True, but I’m just a horny, irresponsible twentysomething-year-old with nothing else to do but fuck. What’s your excuse?”

I don’t have one.

“Thanks for this.” I shake the ice cream at him, ignoring his question. “You forgot a spoon though.”

“Ah, one moment.” He grabs one out of his pocket and hands it to me. “I thought of everything.”

“You’re really trying to butter me up.”

He takes a sip of the beer he went inside for in the first place. “I’m just trying to figure out why it sometimes feels like you’re hate-fucking me and others it feels like there’s something else there.”

I nearly choke on the bite of ice cream sliding down my throat.

Good thing this stuff melts easily.

“Jesus, Winston,” I say, wiping my mouth. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You couldn’t handle how I really feel.”

He tips the bottle back to his lips, and I know he can feel my eyes on him.

Neither of us address his statement, because we both know he’s probably right.

“I’m not hate-fucking you.” He slides his eyes my way, and I chuckle. “Okay, maybe a little, but you had it coming.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees. “What about the other times though? What’s going on?”

What’s going on is that I think I might have feelings for you, and I don’twantto have feelings for you.

But I don’t say that because I’m way too afraid of his reaction.

I don’t get easily intimidated. It’s just not who I am, probably from my hard upbringing, and I don’t let anyone or anything get the best of me.

Winston, though…he’s different.

He scares me, and I don’t know why.

I sigh, setting my ice cream on the table next to me, and turn toward him.

“What are we doing, Winston?”

“Well, I’m enjoying this beer.” He takes another sip. “And you’re enjoying your free ice cream while we both enjoy this insanely beautiful night with zero dirty diapers because my sister kidnapped your baby.”

“You know what I mean,” I press.

He downs the rest of his beer and sets the bottle aside. For a few minutes, he doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, watching the coastline while I watch him.

I wish I could crawl inside his head and figure out what he’s thinking, because it looks important.

Then he rolls his head toward me, his usually bright blue eyes looking like sapphires in the glow of the setting sun.

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