Inconveniently Bayou

by Erin Nicholas

But now, the smell of cinnamon, or pumpkin, or the sight of whipped cream, made him hard.

The pumpkins were partway to becoming jack-o-lanterns and there were pumpkin muffins, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin cheesecake, toasted pumpkin seeds, and the fucking pumpkin spice lattes everywhere.

All my favs!!!

He’d told her that wearing black made her look whiter than the inside of a potato—he

“Journeys require a full tank of gas, a kickass playlist, and at least fifty bucks worth of junk food.”

She faced him, arms crossed. “Don’t worry about my wedgies. What’s wrong with this one other than that?” Well, she looked like…Luke What’s-His-Name’s next girlfriend. That was what was wrong.

Fine. He could tell her what to do with Luke. Nothing. A big fat nothing. Because he wanted her. He was going to be there on New Year’s Eve.

She tasted even sweeter than purple sugar. Her lips were soft and immediately everything in him itched to be against all of her. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair, run his hands all over her body, hear the soft whimperings and moans and gasps that he knew he could elicit.