“Is it done yet? My way only takes two minutes in the microwave.”
“Almost and faster aren’t always better.”
“In more ways than one,” he mutters.
My heart races at his innuendo.
“What?”
“What what?”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just ready for a second taste of this life-altering experience.”
I can’t be one hundred percent sure what he said, but I don’t think I misheard him. Choosing not to debate with him, I turn off the burner.
“Can you grab me two mugs?”
He does, his body coming perilously close to the back of mine as he sets them on the counter next to me. I pour the contents of the pan into our mugs, filling them about halfway, then add half and half to cool them before pointing to the toppings.
“Your choice.”
One marshmallow goes in his mouth while several others go in his cocoa before being topped with the chocolate and caramel sauce.
“I think you use more of that than Gage did.” I laugh at the mountain of marshmallows and the sauce that drips down his cup.
“I have an awful sweet tooth. Always have. My mom used to make two birthday cakes—one for me and one for everyone else.”
I laugh and add a few marshmallows and chocolate syrup to my drink.
“Ready?” I hold out my cup, and he touches his against mine.
“Ready.”
We pull apart, and he lifts the mug to his mouth. I mimic his motion and take a sip. Chocolate and vanilla flood my tongue, and I moan at the warmth that heats me from the inside out. Chris’s Adams apple continues to bob as he finishes his hot chocolate in one go.
“Oh my god.” I’ve never seen someone drink it the way he does—like a shot.
His mug is completely empty when he sets it back on the counter.
“That was delicious.” He drags his tongue along his lower lip, completely missing the light sheen of chocolate above his upper one.
“You missed some.” I step forward and lift my thumb to wipe it away before I realize what I’m doing.
My retreat is awkward, and I bump back against the counter.
“Sorry.”
His tongue follows the same path as my fingers, and I struggle to look away from his mouth. It reminds me of our kiss. Of something I need to forget.
But right now, I can’t remember why.
“You don’t need to apologize.” His voice drops to a murmur, the raspy sound creating an ache in my core.
Or maybe it’s the look in his eyes as he stares at me. Like I’m his favorite dessert.
And he’s starving.
