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For the hearts that love differently, and the hearts that love them for it.
“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” – Jane Austen, Emma
1 ROONEY Playlist: “Cowboy Blues,” Kesha
My rental car blasts Kesha because, hello, I’m a woman on a solo trip, figuring out her shit—of course I’m listening to Kesha.
There’s just one of her songs that I avoid. Because the last time I heard it, I did A Very Terrible Thing.
I kissed Axel ...
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Which isn’t the end of the world. I’m over it. It’s not like I fixate on it. Or daydream about it. Not about The Charades Kis...
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The clue—kiss—scrawled on a piece of paper, flutters to the ground. My lips tingle, my cheeks are hot as I stand with my head back, staring up at Axel, who I’ve just kissed. Maybe “mauled with my mouth” is more accurate.
I look at him. Six feet, many inches of grumpy gorgeousness. An unreadable, dangerously kissable mystery. Who I just crushed my mouth to for the sake of a charades clue.
I bring a shaky hand to my lips. “Axel, I-I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… That is, I shouldn’t have… I’m just viciously competitive, and I…”
“I think,” he whispers, “I have a new appreciation for charades.”
My mouth falls open in surprise. The silent giant just cracked a joke.
“So,” she says. “Who’re you hiding at the little house?” I blink at her in shock. “What?”
You hate sugary food. The sweetest thing you’ll eat is an apple. Whereas, this evening, you have, in fact, purchased all the fixings for s’mores. Which means, my sweet, surly thirtysomething, that you have a guest.” She bats her eyelashes. “A special someone waiting for you? Warming up that cozy cabin in the woods?”
Since I walked back into the cabin, flopped onto that big, dreamy bed, and crashed, I’ve been dreaming about a tall, green-eyed man I couldn’t deny is Axel if I tried.
I stare up at the ceiling, flushed and achy, unresolved need heavy between my thighs. My cheeks burn. I honestly can’t believe myself. It’s been…God, over two years, and this absurd crush I’ve harbored, made up of a handful of fleeting interactions and stilted conversations, is ridiculous.
My head knows this. Everything else in me…does not.
Is Axel here? Does he have a dog? Shit. Picturing the sexy silent giant cuddling a puppy dog makes me hot and bothered all over again.
Cheese and fucking rice, this is mortifying!
“Why don’t we… Let me make some dinner. Then we can talk.” Talk? Axel? He’s going to…talk to me?
“No barking at her,” Axel tells the dog. “Or begging.” The dog ruffs and whines. “You heard her stomach growl. She gets food first. You’ll just have to wait.”
Watching him carry on this one-sided conversation feels like seeing an entirely different person.
As I step outside and shut the door behind me, Ax straightens, then glances my way. His gaze flicks up my body before he turns back toward the fire. Like each time I’ve seen him, the brief, unaffected dismissal stings. At least the dog notices me.
I taste my omelet and almost have a foodgasm.
“I don’t have a love language.” “Everyone does.” “Not me.” I grin and lean toward him. “You show the people you love what they mean to you through sacrificial, generous action. That’s all it means.”
Willa and Ryder don’t know what’s going on with the place, but they knew Axel was here. So why didn’t Willa tell me? What was she doing?
I’ve heard of the Bergman family’s capacity for meddling, and I assumed that because I’m not one of them, I was immune. But what if I’m not? Are they trying to set us up?
Why? Because of The Charades Kiss? That was just an embarrassing accident… Unless it wasn’t. Unless they gav...
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I am a plausible victim of Bergm...
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They knew what I’d do, that if they didn’t guess it, I wouldn’t pause and think, Gee, huh. Wonder why none of my teammates are guessing “kiss” when I’m giving them obvious clues? They aren’t trying to get me to kiss someone, are they?
Damn. Those Bergman girlfriends and sisters played me like a well-tuned instrument.
“Thank you for your hospitality. You didn’t have to offer it to me, but you did. Even after I made things so awkward with charades last time. With the kiss.” Axel fumbles with his plate and nearly drops it, catching it right before it hits the ground.
I bet it was Willa.” I gasp as I remember. “It was. She handed me the clue.” “I hadn’t considered that,” he says, “but now what Ryder said is even more incriminating.”
Pink floods Axel’s cheeks again. He glances my way, his gaze landing on my mouth. “That he was tossing ‘make out’ as a clue in the basket when we’re there for Thanksgiving.”
The unbidden image of Axel—his hands frantic down my waist, cupping my ass, as his mouth meets mine, as that beard scrapes along my cheek—bursts through my mind. I grip my plate s...
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It’s like The Charades Kiss all over again, those beautiful eyes locked on my mouth, air rushing from his lungs, our mouths close, closer— The dog’s loud bark outside the door shatters the moment, wrenching us apart.
I am burning head to toe with lust, flushed, dazed, heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Holy shit. Were we about to kiss? Is he a...
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“Thanks for dinner.” “You, too.” He grimaces. “Uh. Wait. I meant—” He sighs. “Never mind. Goodnight.”
I think he’s trying to intimidate me, but all it does is make him look annoyingly attractive. Grumpiness should not be this hot.
Sunlight seeps through the tent, warming my eyelids, but I don’t wake up. I don’t want to. Not when I’m in this dream. A dream where Rooney is soft and warm beneath me.
I’m so hard, so close I can barely catch my breath, when in my dream her body arches into mine and—
She’s so beautiful, it hurts.
“You okay?” she asks. “Sounded like a bad dream.” I groan as I sit up. “Something like that.”
“Get out, E.T. I’ll put on some clothes and be there in a minute.”
Skyler looks at Rooney. “Your name’s E.T.? I thought it was Rooney.” Rooney laughs. “It’s an old movie about an alien, and another word for ‘alien’ is ‘extraterrestrial,’ or E.T. for short. He’s calling you that.”
“The takeaway,” I tell them, “is that you both nee...
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“Uncle Ax doesn’t like sugar,” Skyler tells Rooney around a mouthful. “Maybe that’s why he’s so bad at Candyland.”
Rooney accepts a cinnamon roll, then takes a bite. Her eyes slip shut. Her head tips back, exposing the long line of her throat. “Oh my God,” she says on a sigh. Then she moans. Deep in her throat. And then real estate in my jeans’ groin area is hard to come by.
Rooney groans again and slides an icing-laden finger deep into her mouth to lick it clean. I shove the rest of the cinnamon roll into my mouth and decide if I choke, it won’t be the worst way out of this hellish situation.
