Page 41 of Not Your Valentine
I don’t like the idea. I want to believe he did it just for my enjoyment.
Hmph.
Now that I think about it, I didn’t take any pictures when he came over last Thursday. No pictures of that delicious heart-shaped cake, no awkward selfies of us on the couch. In fact, I haven’t posted any relationship content, for lack of a better term, for a while.
Yeah, better post something real quick.
I cringe as I do it, but thankfully, I have some dark chocolate (75% cacao) to wash down that feeling. The package has an artsy watercolor, plus tasting notes and a few words about the part of Peru where the cocoa beans grow. I take a small bite and although I don’t get all the things mentioned in the tasting notes, it’s really good.
This chocolate isn’t the kind you eat all at once but savor one square at a time, so after that first square, I put it away, telling myself I can have one more after dinner. Then I check my texts.
How is it? Taylor asks.
How do you know I’ve tried it already?
I know you.
That causes a burst of gooeyness in my chest.
Gross.
Well, we’ll go away on Friday—he’s going to pick me up in his dad’s mini-SUV, which is better suited to driving up north than my small sedan—and with a little sex, I’m sure I’ll get these feelings out of my system.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask Lucifer. “This will solve everything. I’m positive.”
Chapter 14
“Your friend who owns the cabin—does he know I’m coming with you?” I ask in the car.
“Yep,” Taylor says, not taking his eyes off the road. “He knows I’m bringing my girlfriend for a romantic weekend. He told me to invite you, actually.”
What, exactly, has Taylor been telling his other friends about me? Why was Quentin surprised by our relationship?
I’m afraid to ask.
We stopped after an hour and a half to eat dinner—just something quick at Tim Hortons—and now, we should be getting close. My heart rate speeds up in anticipation.
We haven’t talked about it, but we know what will happen once we get there.
When Taylor briefly removes one hand from the steering wheel to caress my thigh, his pinky sliding up the inside of my leg, I hiss out a breath.
What do you bring on a weekend winter getaway with your friend-slash-fake-boyfriend whom you’re going to fuck? That was the question I tortured myself with last night. I figured warm-but-effortlessly-sexy was the way to go.
And then I realized I had no idea what the fuck that meant.
Who knows what actually ended up in my suitcase. By the time I finished packing, I’d put stuff in and taken stuff out countless times, and it was one thirty in the morning. I usually don’t struggle with packing, but I’ve never been in a situation like this before.
As we get closer, I feel like I’m heading toward impending doom, even though every inch of my body is excited by the presence of the man next to me.
I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense.
What doom awaits me? A hungry bear who didn’t get the memo on hibernation?
Speaking of hibernation, I wish humans hibernated. That way, we could avoid being conscious in the coldest months of the year. I imagine Taylor and I snuggled up in a bear den together. Then I stretch my imagination further and picture us both as bears…
“You awake?” Taylor asks. “We’re just about there.”
“Uh, yeah,” I murmur, deciding it’s better not to tell him what I’m thinking about.
