This is stupid. You are stupid, Claire Delaney. You are making something already complicated and dangerous even more complicated and dangerous, and for what? To kiss a pretty boy? To find out he tastes like oranges and sugar?
It’ll be so much worse later. You’re making it so much worse right now.
She didn’t care. Rake was a wonder, bigger and stronger, but he kissed like he wasn’t; he kissed like she could leave off anytime. He had one big hand on the nape of her neck, holding her skull like an eggshell, and the other was on her lower back, pressing her into him. She didn’t feel overwhelmed, or trapped.
Just safe.
She was safe. Tough to worry about anything when she was safe. Not that she needed Rake Tarbell to feel safe. Or anyone.
Then: What are you doing? Of course you have to worry; it doesn’t matter that he’s got a doctorate in locking lips.
True, but where would you even go to school to get that kind of doc—
You have to leave! Bad enough you let him get mixed up in this, but lingering after a hack isn’t smart. You knew better than this when you were fourteen.
She pulled back and Rake groaned again, a deep rumble she felt all over, but he let her go. “Should I be preparing for a beating?” he asked. “It’s fine, you know. I just want to know what to expect.”
“Don’t be an idiot. It was as much my idea as yours.” She’d been working up the courage to go over to him and kiss the flour off his nose, when he’d crossed the room and kissed her. Like it was easy. Like it wasn’t a terrible idea.
And then, because she was a stupid, stupid woman and had to know: “There’ve been some positive things, right? Being trapped here, um, with me … it hasn’t been all bad?”
He smiled. “It’s been pretty much all positive since I stopped compulsively barfing.”
Pathetic how much that meant to her. But at least now she could get back to business. “We have to go. The volunteers will finish.”
“Really?” He made no effort to hide his delight. “We’re done? No more orange peeling? No more paste squeezing? We’re finished?”
“You are.” And why aren’t you asking about the DNA results, Rake? Because I don’t dare bring them up until you do.
Operation: Make Rake Embrace Responsibility aside, she’d have to follow up to see if that selfish pig of a chairman was going to see reason or if she’d have to use the hack, but that wasn’t Rake’s concern. She almost hoped he wouldn’t see reason, so she could put out the hit. That was happening more and more often these days.… “I might have to come back.”
“Charity’s never done, huh?” he said, and for a wonder he wasn’t teasing.
Charity. Revenge. They were often the same, she’d found out. At least the way her family did things. “C’mon. I’ll lend you twenty bucks for a small coffee. You like tons of whipped cream and syrup in your coffee, right?”
“Who doesn’t?” He was whipping off the apron and swiping halfheartedly at the messy counter. “We’re really leaving it messy like this?”
“Like I said, the volunteers”—the real volunteers—“will take care of it.”
“Excellent.” Then he gallantly held out a (floured) elbow. “Shall we?”
Enjoy this. He won’t be speaking to you soon enough.
“We shall,” she replied, and found a smile from somewhere.