Chapter 3
I’VE BEEN RADICALIZED
MABEL
I really shouldn’t do this. But I probably shouldn’t have done that whole smash-cake routine either.
Let’s just call it the day for impetuous decisions, since I swipe off the cherry-pink frosting, step closer, then flick it at Corbin’s cheek, where it lands in a glop on his fair skin, right below his strong cheekbone.
He blinks, clearly taken aback.
I laugh, but not for long.
He darts out a hand, grabs my wrist and holds it tight. “Did you just fling frosting at me?”
It’s that stern, bossy tone he used with Ronnie, and I shiver. I like the tone as much as I like the possessive way he grips my wrist.
I bob a shoulder and answer, “You said you liked cake.”
“Did you think that meant on my face?”
“Better than on your pretty suit. I know how important the pre-game photos are.”
“So I should be glad you didn’t throw cake on my shirt?”
“I mean, it’s a good test of your devotion to it.”
He stares sharply at me. “Are you testing me, Mabel?”
I stand my ground. “Yes.”
With a look that says, You’re on, he lifts his free hand, swipes the sugary goodness from his cheek, then licks some off slowly.
Oh.
Oh my.
I believe I’ve just been radicalized by the unexpected hotness of a man eating something sweet.
Why has it taken me so long to witness this thirst trap?
But damn, the way his tongue flicks past his lips, the way he catches the last bit of frosting with the tip, the way he doesn’t break my gaze…
His green eyes are locked on me the whole time as he licks.
My chest feels fizzy. My heart is beating so fast.
He lets out a low, satisfied murmur as he finishes. “Believe me now?”
I swallow down my hormones, then nod toward the smidgeon left on his finger. “I would believe you, but I don’t think you got it all.”
He tsks. “You’re right. I didn’t.” In slow-motion, he brings the last bit of frosting to his lips, but with a quickness I don’t see coming, he smears it on my cheek instead.
I gasp. “I was already covered in cake!”
“I’m so sorry,” he says dryly.
“You don’t sound it.”
“Let me show you, then.”
“You’d better,” I say.
Corbin steps closer. When he’s inches away, he whispers a very unapologetic, “Sorry.”
It’s soft and sounds like a promise, then it turns into…a kiss on my cheek.
“Oh,” I say. Or maybe I squeak it as he kisses the frosting off my face, gently, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste.
I catch another hint of his aftershave. I caught the scent earlier, but now that he’s even closer, he smells like campfire and the lake.
I’ve never been outdoorsy—I despise camping, and I think hiking is worse than CrossFit—and yet, I want to roll around in a tent right now.
Or, just luxuriate in this chaste-ish kiss that’s lasting longer than a cheek kiss should.
His lips are so soft and so deliberate. It’s a mind-bending combination.
I fantasized about a moment like this for months after I first met him.
But I was finishing college, and not only was Corbin Theo’s friend, but he had a young daughter.
I didn’t want to date or even sleep with a guy who had a kid, let alone someone my brother knew, so those dirty dreams stayed just that.
Now, though, I’m relishing this kiss, this gentle press against my cheek that somehow feels far dirtier than it should.
When he inches away from me after several druggy seconds, he rasps out, “I told you I like cake.”
“Me too,” I say, keenly aware I’m not in college anymore.
I don’t feel so much younger than him like I did then.
The other things? I’m not thinking about them as I drag my teeth across my bottom lip.
Possibly, I do it to see if he’ll watch me.
And I like what I learn. The man can’t look away from my mouth.
Just like I haven’t been able to look away from him whenever I’ve seen him over the years, at games, or with my brother, or just… around.
Perhaps I was wrong about the universe hating me. It can’t hate me that much if it’s putting this sexy man in my path, even if he’s best friends with Theo. He’s helpful and braids hair and has strong hands…
One of them still holds my wrist. Holy shit. Corbin grazes my forearm with his thumb, a slow and steady back and forth. Is it supposed to feel that good? That tingly?
My thoughts scatter when, with a smirk, Corbin adds, “What are you waiting for, Mabel? Try the cake.”
I quickly connect the dots. The only place to try the cake is…on his lips.
I’ve never been one to back down from a dare.
I don’t think too long about his challenge. I rise on the tiptoes of my sneakers and press my lips to his. A quick, firm, thank-you kiss, I tell myself. But it’s a lie because I don’t stop kissing him.
Corbin doesn’t stop either. As his lips brush mine, he lets go of my wrist, cupping my chin instead. He holds me in place, nice and firm.
He slides his thumb along my jawline in a slow caress. He takes his time, teasing me with his sweet, sugary mouth that tastes like what should have been a winning confection. His other hand roams up my arm, and suddenly my arm—my freaking arm—is aroused too.
His touch is so light, so tender, and so…good that I don’t feel like someone who got dumped for a reality show. Or someone whose ex just bitched about her on national TV. Or the silly baker who’s been failing to catch her dream for years.
Right now, I just feel…wanted, hot, and irresistible.
I rope my arms around his neck above the starched collar of his dress shirt, twining my fingers in his hair. I inch closer so I can press myself against him. The second our bodies touch, my brain forgets everything beyond that door.
He hums, a rough, inviting sound, then wraps an arm around my waist. Presses a firm hand to the small of my back. Tugs me flush against him. And…yes.
I kiss him back harder, trying to say things with this kiss. Like, Tonight would be a good time for you to strip me to nothing, the way I’ve imagined you doing.
He’s getting the message. His fingers dig into my ass, squeezing me tight, kneading me through my jeans. Yanking me closer.
I grind against him, and my brain pops. I should stop. Truly, I should. But my head swims with lusty thoughts. My body pulses. And Corbin hooks my right leg up around his waist.
Like he needs a better angle.
Time is running out, and yet this feels too good to quit. I push back against him, seeking friction. He bends his knees, and we’re fucking against the door with our clothes on.
My cells are buzzing. My legs are shaking. This is so utterly risky, making out in a trailer that’s not even mine, where anyone could walk in, but I just don’t care.
A loud knock echoes through the trailer and straight into my very bones.
We jerk apart, Corbin ripping away from me, backing up to the sink.
I blink, then brush my hands down my stained apron.
I reorient myself to the present, not the filthy future of my dirty dreams. Not the pulsing between my thighs.
Not the fact that I was this close to using my brother’s best friend to get myself off in a trailer.
What the hell is happening to me?
“Yes?” I croak out as Corbin smooths his shirt and adjusts himself from a safer distance.
“It’s Poppy, and it’s photo time,” says the cool, feminine voice of Ronnie’s assistant.
“Okay,” I say, sounding breathless and, I suppose, horny.
Well, I am.
But that’s not good. I need to get back out there to pose for the photo and maybe salvage something from this contest. I need to think about something, anything, other than what I just did in the trailer of the host of the cake contest.
I am a hot mess.
But at least my panties aren’t. Not entirely.
I try to clear the fog of lust by thinking about a recipe for something challenging to make…like a chocolate éclair.
Choux pastry is the lava pit of bakers, just waiting for you to misstep.
I review the first round of cooking the dough, but it’s hard to erase that kiss when Corbin’s gaze sweeps over me like he’s adjusting to a new reality too—one where he’s kissed me on an unspoken dare. He’s staring at me with a furrowed brow…and a hard-on that hasn’t deflated.
Well, I can’t not look at those nice gray slacks. Even though that’s a boring color for a man who likes frosting and forbidden kisses.
We’re both silent, like we can stop time or reverse decisions. But Poppy is having none of that. She knocks again.
I clear my head as best I can, then call out: “I’m on my way.”
“Lovely. Since it’s photo time now,” she says, sounding completely unamused by how long this is taking.
I whirl back to face Corbin. What do I say?
That was nice. Should we do it again, even though it’d make my hot-mess life even messier?
It would throw a wrench into his too. Still, I catalogue the heated eyes that don’t look away from me, the hair that I want to run my fingers through, the body I want to explore.
And…oh shit. My gaze lands on his expensive shirt. It’s white…and a little pink now. “Corbin,” I whisper. “I think some frosting from my apron got on your shirt. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”
He glances down at it, curses under his breath, then looks up quickly. “I can wash it. It’s fine.”
“But you have to go to the arena.”
Then again, what am I going to do? Go rush out and buy him a new one now, when he’s due there any minute?
“Go, Mabel. I’m all good,” he says, in that same I’ve got this tone he used when he ushered me to this trailer fifteen minutes ago.
I burst out the door, leaving that unexpected kiss behind.