Chapter 27
PLANS CHANGE
LYDIA
My fingers are covered in sticky red icing, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy. Well, except maybe the Christmas Festival date.
Fletcher is more of a romantic than I realized. He’s been so attentive to me, making sure I have everything I need even when he’s out of town. These dates are so thought out. I can’t wait to see what’s next. All his focus has been on me tonight; I don’t think he’s looked at his phone once.
“What on earth are you doing?” I ask Fletcher as I look at the catastrophe in front of him.
He’s holding a tube of icing to a gingerbread man-shaped cookie. The cookie is covered in blue icing, but all the lines he was trying to draw on it are seeping together, creating a mess.
“I’m trying to make myself.” His focus is so intense. His brow is furrowed, his eyes locked on the little cookie.
“Yourself?” I question, before I can finally visualize what he’s doing. “Oh my god, you really are trying to make yourself into a cookie.”
The gingerbread man is covered in a teal icing, and on the sleeves is a little “forty-eight” in black, but it’s slowly merging into a black dot. Little black skates are on its feet, and Fletcher is trying to draw the Minnesota Blue Herons logo on the front of the jersey.
“You have to wait until it dries before you add more to the top. That’s why it looks like that.” I point to the blob of black icing.
“I know, but I got too impatient. We can pretend this one is Calvin. I’ll make myself into a different cookie.”
I laugh loudly. Of course, he’d turn his failed cookie of himself into his other best friend.
Fletcher grabs the red icing and puts some on the cookie's head to make Calvin’s hair. “There, it’s perfect.”
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, not even caring about it getting covered in icing, I open the camera and snap a photo, sending it to Grace and Zoey without context. They’ll love it.
Fletcher moves on to the next two cookies, this time doing a better job outlining and waiting until the first layers of icing are dry before adding the details.
It’s still a bit of a mess, and not perfect by any means, but fifteen minutes later, he’s holding the three hockey players side by side.
One has dark hair to match his, the other has yellow for Trigg, and the messy one has red for Calvin.
“Take a picture. The guys are going to love this.”
I dutifully take a photo and send it to him right away. When he puts down one of the cookies, one of them must still be a little wet, as he gets some of the blue icing all over his pointer finger.
“Oops,” he mutters, staring at his finger. “Hmm.”
“Oh no, you messed up Trigg’s sleeve.” I point at the arm.
Fletcher shrugs. “Oh, well.”
A devious glint appears in his gaze, and before I know it, he brushes his finger onto the tip of my nose. He doesn’t even try to stop the smile on his face as he glances down at his handiwork.
“If this were red, I’d call you Rudolph,” Fletcher teases.
“You have to clean it off. I can’t walk around forever with a blue nose.”
I can see the shift in his gaze as the workings of a plan take over his features. He hums and holds out his still-covered finger, staring at it for a long moment before sucking it into his mouth.
He slowly licks it clean, and my mouth literally waters.
I’ve never thought that the act of sucking another person's finger was erotic until now, but I would give anything to have his finger in my mouth. My knees wobble, and I clutch the edge of the counter for stability.
Fletcher holds my gaze the whole time, and when he pops his finger out of his mouth, it glistens in the kitchen light.
I can’t even stop the harsh exhale from my lungs. “Oh.”
Fletcher takes a step toward me, wrapping his large hand around my waist. I try to step backward for some reason, but he stops me, leaning in close.
Is this finally happening? Are we really about to actually kiss? My eyelids flutter, but I hold back from closing them fully. I want to see him until the last second.
Fletcher’s lips twitch as he leans in more, only instead of kissing me like I so desperately want, he presses his lips to the tip of my nose, where the icing is hardening. He swipes his tongue, cleaning off my nose. He rests his forehead against mine for a moment before completely pulling away.
What. A. Fucking. Tease.
“Fletcher,” I whine.
Yes, I’m whining. I’m not above pleading at this point. I don’t want to wait any longer to feel his lips on mine. The smirk that crosses his face gives me an idea. Fine. If he wants to play, so can I.
I swipe a dollop of white icing from the bowl. Without thinking too much, I spread it across my lips and stare up at him with a silent dare. He kissed my nose to get rid of the icing, after all. Two can play at this game, Fletcher Graff.
He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side while his shoulders shake in a silent laugh.
This time, he uses his thumb to tilt my head back, and I let my eyes fall shut as he leans in, the voice in my mind chanting finally!
There’s a graze against my lips, but… it’s not right. My eyes open, and Fletcher is dragging his thumb across my lips, cleaning off the icing before popping his thumb into his mouth.
My jaw drops. While yes, he looks sexy licking off the icing again, I’m irritated. What do you mean I laid out a perfect way to get him to kiss me, and he denied me?
“What the fuck?” I groan.
I try to pull back from him completely, but his grip tightens on my waist. Fletcher pulls me close, so I’m pressed against his chest, his lips level with my ear. “You’re messing with my plans, Lydia Ward.”
My breath hitches. “Plans change,” I state coolly.
“Not mine.” He nuzzles his stubbled jaw against mine before pulling away, breaking the tension and leaving me waiting, wanting, panting, pussy pulsing.
I want to yell at him. How dare he leave me like this? I should be humiliated, but at the same time, I’m not. I’m curious. What does he have planned? Is he really going to work me up like this every time? I don’t know if I can handle being worked up this much. I might die from anticipation.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all figured out.” Fletcher gives my hip one last squeeze before breaking contact and turning back to the cookies. “I think we should go on the Great British Baking Show, don’t you?”
How he can so nonchalantly switch from whatever that was to talking about a baking show surprises the heck out of me. He really is calm, cool, and collected under pressure. I, however, am not.
What I want to do is stomp my foot like a bratty toddler. Instead, I shake out my hands and point to a bell-shaped cookie I decorated beautifully. “This one would win.”
Fletcher laughs. “Yeah, it totally would.”
As time passes, the heat between my thighs does too. Once everything is cleaned and the cookies are put away in containers, Fletcher holds out his hand.
“I think we had a very successful second date,” he muses as I take his palm in mine.
I hum, still a little peeved about the fact that he didn’t kiss me.
“Think I can ask you for a third one?” he asks, his voice hesitant.
“Depends. Will you kiss me if I say yes?” I tilt my head in question as I stare at him.
He breaks out into raucous laughter. “Nope. You aren’t going to break me. I’ve got a plan.”
“Fine. Yes, you can ask me for a third one, but only if you promise not to fuck me and ghost me after.”
His green eyes flare with heat, and his thumb and pointer finger tilt my chin. God, is this what he looks like when he’s about to fuck you? My knees tremble, my core bursting into flames with the intensity of his gaze.
Fletcher’s voice drops low. “Don’t make jokes about him.”
“Okay,” I mumble, my mouth dry.
The heat slowly fades as Fletcher straightens, the half-smile I love coming back onto his lips.
“Would you like to go on a third date, Lydia?” he asks earnestly.
“Yes, I very much would,” I blurt, doing my best to shake off the heated moment.
The smile he gives me makes my panties wet. “Thank you.”
He squeezes my hand and walks me down the hall to my bedroom. When we stand outside my bedroom door again, I’m not wishing for a kiss anymore; now, I’m simply waiting for whatever perfect moment he has planned.
“Good night, Lydia.” Fletcher lifts my wrist to his lips, kissing my rapidly thrumming pulse point. He drops my wrist, leaving me yearning for more, and pulls me in for a long, tight hug before letting me go and stepping to his own door.
“Good night, Fletcher.”
My knees are weak as I go into my room, my stomach swooping, and my mind spiraling. Holy mother of god.