Page 94 of Bleacher Report
"Keeps my drinks nice and cold, where I like to store my snacks. Check inside, that's where your next clue will be stashed."
Pulling open the fridge, I spot another note attached to a bottle of water. "Hydration is key, especially when you're...well, you know."
I groan, cheeks flushing at the implication. "Hunter, I swear to God—"
"Shh, you'll scare Sproutacus. He doesn't like it when mom and dad fight."
I glance over at the Chia Pet sitting on the counter. "You're enjoying this way too much, aren't you?"
"Maybe a little," he admits, a teasing tone to his voice. "But come on, Peyton. Where's your sense of adventure?"
I shake my head, but I can't fight the smile that spreads across my face. "All right, fine. Lead on, you ridiculous man."
I follow the trail of clues, each one more cryptic than the last. The living room, the laundry room, even the guest bathroom—every time I think I've got it figured out, Hunter throws me a curveball.
By the time I make it to the last clue, tucked inside one of the kitchen cabinets, I'm equal parts exasperated and amused.
The final destination is where I like to get all hot and steamy.
Open me up and you'll find your prize.
I stare at the note, brow furrowed. Hot and steamy…the oven? No. The bathroom? My eyes widen as realization dawns.
"The shower?" I ask.
He says nothing. “Hunter, is it the shower?” I ask as I practically sprint to his shower in the hallway, but I don’t findanything besides less of his things on the counter since he packed them with him.
Seeing the bathroom almost bare of his belongings makes me feel—lonely?
Maybe, but wherever these misplaced feelings are coming from, now isn’t the time to unpack them.
“Did you find it?” he asks smugly,
“It’s not in there and you know it,” I say and then run to my room, and then to my bathroom. But again…it’s empty. “It’s not in my bathroom either. Where is it?”
“Keep looking. What got you hot and steamy the last time we were together?”
I think for a second. “The dryer!” I practically shout and race out of my bathroom, bedroom, and then down the hall.
I can hear him muffling back laughter.
“I’m going to get you back for this, by the way.”
“You’d better mean that Peyton. Don’t tease me.”
I grumble at his enjoyment as I push through the half-open laundry door. Nothing is sitting on top, so I yank open the door. He must hear me.
"Well, well, look who figured it out," he teases. "Go on, open it."
Sure enough, there's a neatly wrapped box sitting inside the dryer drum, a bright red bow perched on top.
“You put my vibrator inside?” I ask, like it's the most outrageous thing imaginable.
“Yeah...that’s where it goes. Inside.” His voice drops lower, full of wicked amusement. “I’ll be happy to demonstrate on you when I get home, if you need a proper tutorial.”
I blow out a loud, exaggerated sigh, pretending he’s annoying me—pretending I’m not already grinning like an idiot. My fingers work quickly at the wrapping paper, anticipation buzzing under my skin.
When I finally pull off the lid, my breath catches.
