PANCAKES AND PASSION
His name was Rory.
I sat in a daze, staring sightlessly out at the crashing waves, while I waited for my order, my hunger forgotten.
“You pancakes, sir. And would you like a side of Rory with that?”
I lifted my gaze to look at him, blinking a few times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I knew I couldn’t be having a sugar induced auditory hallucination—I hadn’t had any sugar yet. But was I still drunk? I was certain I couldn’t have heard him correctly. It had to have been wishful thinking on my behalf. He couldn’t possibly have asked what I thought he had.
“Would you like a side of Rory with your pancakes?”
Okay, no hallucinations. He’d really said it.
See, like I told you. It all started over pancakes.
Don’t ask me how I ended up in King Edward Park playing hide and seek with him, because, in all honesty, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
One minute, I was blowing my budget and having something like my tenth cup of coffee while waiting for him to finish his shift—yeah, I know, fat chance of getting to sleep later—and the next I was looking at him leaning against one of the big old pines with his hands over his eyes, slowly counting to twenty.
He looked so fucking cute, I just wanted to kiss him till we were both stupid. Hell, I just wanted to kiss him period. Those pouty lips of his puckering and pressing together as that raspy voice of his whispered the numbers seemed to me like they were just begging to be kissed. I swear the number seven, let alone eight, nine, or ten, had never sounded so effing sexy before.
And don’t get me started on his pink little tongue, peeking out to tease me. You can’t tell me it didn’t want me to lean in and suck it into my mouth.
I was mesmerized. I honestly couldn’t make myself move.
He stopped counting and chuckled. “I can tell you’re still standing in front of me, Pancake Boy. You need to go hide, or how can I find you?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of the strategy of hiding in plain sight?”
He laughed again and it sounded as sweet as the pancakes and maple syrup he’d served me for breakfast had tasted.
His voice when he spoke, though, was anything but sweet. No, it was deliciously naughty.
“I want to have to work hard to find you. I want to have to hunt you down so I can wrestle you to the ground and earn the kiss I’m going to steal from you.”
I wasn’t sure he was going to have to steal the kiss. I‘d definitely have to work on my resistance, but regardless, I was on board!
“Start counting again.”
I hung around long enough to hear him get to number three just so I could see his little pink tongue poke between his teeth again—fuck, I really would have my work cut out for me to drum up some resistance—and then I took off.
I sprinted for the formal gardens which were bordered by thick, low hedges and threw myself to the ground behind the nearest one, pressing myself as close to them as I could.
As he searched for me, I could hear him telling me he was going to find me soon. That he was going to have his kiss. That husky voice of his was like a bleeding siren song. The tension was killing me. I wanted nothing more than to stand up and say, ‘here I am.’
“Pancake Boy, I want my kiss,” he cooed for the umpteenth time. Yep, I swear, he flipping-well cooed.
I couldn’t stand it any more. I leapt to my feet. “Well, come and get it!”
I spun around and ran between the flower beds with Rory hot on my heels.
It was ridiculous. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played hide ‘n’ seek. Eight? Ten? And I def couldn’t remember wanting to get caught so I could get kissed. And damn did I want to get kissed by Rory.
I was laughing.
He was laughing.
And then I ate dirt.
Well, grass, actually.
But I didn’t care because Rory was climbing up my legs, flipping me over onto my back and pinning me down.
“Now for the kiss you owe me, Pancake Boy.”
I remembered I was meant to be putting up a struggle. I had about four inches on him and maybe twenty pounds, so I prob could have tossed him, but when one is cracking a boner and hanging for a kiss one is not that great at thinking up escape plans. Hell, what man can think at all when he has a big fat throbbing chubby in his pants? I admit it—I can’t.
I did my best. I wriggled and bucked, trying to get free.
Okay, that’s a generous description. I did shuffle my butt a bit, though—yeah, yeah, I know. Piss poor effort, but I’d challenge Romeo to try to get free if he’d been tackled by Juliet. Same goes for Tarzan and Jane, or Superman and Lois Lane. Exactly. Not happening.
Rory cupped my face, pinning me to the ground, and man oh man, did his fingers feel good in my hair.
And then those pouty lips of his slowly descended.
The sun must have made the grass pretty bloody hot. Why else would I have melted into the ground the moment his lips made contact with mine?
Couldn’t be because they were the plumpest, softest things I’d ever felt against my lips in my entire life.
Couldn’t be because his tongue tasted like hot chocolate and marshmallows.
Or because his breath in my mouth was sweeter than a chocolate Snickers bar.
Had to be ‘cause it was a hot summer’s day…
Yeah, right. You believe that and you’ll believe anything!