Page 38 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
Geez, you can’t even think that with a straight face, Anders.
Okay, I wanted to snoop. There, I owned it.
Sunny steps next to me and her gaze follows mine. I can’t stop watching her. Tendrils of her dark hair have escaped her messy bun and are resting on her pink cheeks. I can smell her lemon Skittles smell. We’re way too close to each other in this tiny closet.
When she finally tracks the thing that grabbed my attention—the scandalous, sweaty artistic masterpiece featuring my co-worker—she laughs so loud that the sound of it fills the small space. Not the reaction I expected. I’m relieved, but sort of confused.
She’s out of breath when she says, “Oh, that? I forgot that was there. Mercer put it up as a joke during our senior year. Don’t read too much into it, buddy.” She tucks her loose hair back into her bun, like brushing off men is a daily affair for her. Maybe it is.
But then she gasps and mutters an old-timey curse that startles a laugh out of me. She pulls the door shut behind us so fast it makes her clothes flutter in the wind it creates.
“What—”
“Shh!”
“Okay, I haven’t been shushed in about twenty years,” I say at full volume.
“Then you’re overdue,” she sasses under her breath. Her wide, brown eyes blink up at me behind her glasses. We are really close now that the door is closed.
“Why did you shut us in here?” I can feel myself smirking down at her. I wish I could stop it, but I want to do a lot more than smile at her. Look at me, exerting self-control.
“My mom. I heard her coming. I’m not allowed to have boys up here,” she hisses in a rush.
Now I’m really chuckling. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to get you in trouble. Let me just jump on my bike and head back to the middle school. I’ll see you in P.E.”
“My mom has rules, wisenheimer. Strict rules.” She shoves my chest playfully. “She’s old fashioned.”
I snatch her hand and hold it in place. She isn’t going anywhere with that sassy mouth. “Then she must hate your taste in wall art.”
Her breaths are short and shallow, and her pink lips part when she gazes up at me. “I wouldn’t blame her. Micah and his oiled-up, salacious body and those come-hither eyes,” she whispers, like anyone will hear us buried in this closet.
Something boils up inside of me at her words. I don’t like this one bit, but I just shake my head. “The words you use, Sunflower,” I say through a sigh.
“You make me nervous. That’s when the nerd words come out.” Her small fingers curl around mine, making my heart jump.
“Why do I make you nervous?” I squeeze her fingers.
She squeezes back. “You don’t need to ask. You know.”
“You make me nervous, too.”
Her dark brown eyes widen. She licks her bottom lip, and it juts into a pout. She is trying to kill me. “Malarkey,” she whispers.
Deceased. I am deceased.
I inch toward her until my chest presses against her, our clasped hands the only thing between us. “You and your scandalous glasses, geriatric vocabulary, and… kissable lips.”
She sucks in a breath and her dark eyes bore into mine. “Anders.” The word is barely audible.
Blink once if you want me to kiss you.
She blinks.
I don't have to be told twice.
I cover her lips with mine and she squeaks—just a tiny squeak, like I surprised her—then she melts against me. I grab her hip with my free hand and pull her even closer. Her clothes are kind ofsoaked, and I’m warming her up. Doing my duty. She whimpers against my mouth and the sound undoes me. She is way too innocent, way too good, for someone like me.
What are you doing, Anders?
