Forgiving Lies

and once on my calf by more darts. “You’re such a child, Kash!” Flipping on the light, I blinked against the brightness before focusing on the mirror. A loud gasp filled the small room. “Logan Kash Hendricks! What did you do?”

He was still cracking up as he got to his feet and came to stand behind me. “I just had to make sure it was on there real good. So I tested it a few times . . . you’re a really heavy sleeper, by the way.”

“There is a hickey on my forehead!”

His body was shaking from the laughter he was trying to keep in now.

“It’s not funny! This better be gone by the time we go to work tonight.”

“Don’t be mad, Sour Patch.” He planted his chin at the top of my head and brushed at my bangs. “You have those, they’ll cover it. Can we have pancakes now?”

My eyes went wide and my jaw dropped as I continued to stare at him in the mirror. “No! Go make them yourself.”

He frowned and brought the toy gun up in front of us. “I’ll let you shoot me.”

I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment. Pancakes sounded really good right now. With a heavy sigh, I held my hand out. “Give me the gun.” As soon as it was in my hand, I went around collecting the three darts and put them back in with the other three still in there before aiming it right at his forehead.

Kash smiled, closed his eyes, and took all six darts like a champ. When I was done he had little red marks all over his forehead, and though I knew his would be gone in a few minutes, I felt like he’d gotten it worse than I did.

“Feel better?”

“A little.” I handed the gun back to him and turned toward my door. “Let’s go make pancakes.” I’d barely hit the kitchen when I realized I didn’t hear him behind me. “And don’t even think about shooting me again, or you’ll be on your own for breakfast!”

Whirling around, I saw him lower the gun that had been aimed at me and, with a pathetic frown, let it drop onto the couch.

I gave him the silent treatment while he pulled out the skillet and mix and I began whisking together the batter. I really wasn’t mad at him—okay, that’s not exactly true; I still couldn’t believe he’d given me a hickey on my forehead with a freaking suction-cup dart. But it was hard to stay mad at Kash when we worked together in the kitchen. He always found reasons to brush up against me, and whenever I thought he wasn’t looking, I’d take my time studying what I could see of his half sleeves and usually made my way up to his full lips. When I saw him sucking on that lip ring, my belly started heating and my mouth went dry. Every. Time. It never failed. So how was I supposed to be mad when I was currently finding it difficult to remember why I kept us as just friends?

“Damn, that’s a good hickey.”

Oh, right. That’s how.

I frowned down at the fully mixed batter. My poor not-yet-made pancakes . . . it was fun while it lasted. The next time he turned to check the skillet, I pulled the whisk out and set it gently on the counter. I really wasn’t worried about messes right now. Grabbing the bowl with both hands, I stepped right up behind him, reached my arms up high, and tipped it over. The sense of glee I got as I watched his entire body stiffen and all that batter fall onto his head was kind of alarming. No wonder he’d been so proud of his suction-cup hickey. I was damn proud of this mess.

When only a little dribble was falling from the bowl, I brought the bowl away from his head, set it on the counter, and had only taken two steps when he grabbed me around my waist and hauled me back to him. The movement made him lose his footing on the now-slippery tile and we both crashed down to the floor.

Quickly getting up on my hands and knees, I slip-crawled a few feet before my legs went out and I fell back to the floor. Kash dragged me back by my legs and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even attempt to try to crawl away as he flipped me over on my back and slipped toward me until he was covering my body.

I laughed harder and wiped at his cheek, which was completely covered. “You, uh, got a little something there.”

His eyes were silver as he growled, “Now do you feel better?”

“Much!”

“I probably deserved that.”

“A little bit.” My laughter finally quieted and I smiled widely at him.

“Rachel . . .” His voice dropped and the huskiness alone caused my breathing to deepen.

When I realized that our bodies were flush, mine started warming again, and my eyelids fluttered shut when he brought one hand up to cup my cheek.

When he repeated my name, I could feel his breath against my lips and they parted in anticipation. His hand left my cheek and he leaned closer to whisper in my ear, “Your hickey looks really lonely.”

Wait. What?! My eyes flew open just as he wiped a hand covered in batter across my face. “You son of a bitch!”

Kash laughed loudly and attempted to move some of the batter so it wasn’t in my eyes.

“I will end you,” I said, making him laugh harder. “I hate you.”

“Don’t lie, Sour Patch, you love me.”

He was joking, I knew he was joking—but my heart still took off at his assumption. Kash must have noticed the change somehow, because he immediately stopped laughing and his gray eyes turned silver.

“Rachel?”

“I, uh—we should clean this up.” I attempted to slide out from under him, but he kept his weight on me and brought his hand up to my cheek again. I stopped moving beneath him and locked up my body as his gaze held mine.

His silver eyes fell over my face as his head inched down, and in the torturous seconds where his lips hovered over mine again, I told myself a dozen times I needed to push him away.

But needing and wanting are two completely different things.

Kash closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine, and in that instant, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged and my body relaxed between him and the tile floor. He parted my mouth with his own and a soft whimper left me when our tongues met and moved against each other. Kissing my bottom lip softly, he pulled back a fraction of an inch to look into my eyes again and smiled before leaning back in.

The door burst open and we jolted away from each other as much as our positions allowed as Mason ran into the apartment, a loud war cry following him into my room, where it abruptly cut off.

Kash’s chest moved roughly as we both came back to reality, and after a heavy silence he turned his head and called out, “Mase?”

I blew out the breath I’d been holding and refused to look back up at Kash as I silently berated myself for my actions over the last few minutes. That wasn’t supposed to have happened, and it couldn’t happen again. We both knew that.

My inner scolding stopped abruptly when Mason slowly walked over to the kitchen with a Nerf gun in hand. In a black wife-beater and cargo pants, with a bandanna around his forehead . . . he almost looked like Rambo.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Kash asked as he cautiously lifted himself off me.

Mase looked down at himself, then back up. “I saw you coming in here on my way back from my run with your gun. I thought we were gonna have a Nerf fight.”

Oh. Dear. God.

Even with the tension coming from Kash and me, I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter until I was crying and snorting uncontrollably.

IT WAS NIGHTS like this I wished I didn’t have a job.

The bar had been slammed for the first half of my shift. Normally, I wouldn’t have complained; it made the shift go by faster and it meant more tips for me. But one of my tables during the rush was a couple with their toddler who thought it was hilarious to throw food off the table and at me, as well as continuously knock over her parents’ drinks. You’d think maybe they’d—I don’t know—move the drinks away from the baby. Or feed the baby rather than let her have her own plate right in front of her. Or maybe, just maybe, apologize for the fact that I was now covered in sour cream and refried beans instead of sitting there arguing with