All Downhill With You (Honeywood Book 1)

“I’ve tried to hate you so much,” I say. “For so many things. But I just can’t.”
He laughs. “Thank God because I love you, Lorelei.”

If you’re lucky enough, you acquire friendships in life that are just as pure as those matching bracelets they give you at summer camp. And if all my luck in life was spent on the foundation of my close friends, I’ll take every accident, suspension, or heartbreak that comes at me. They’re worth it.

“We have fifteen minutes,” I say.
“Wow, last time, you said five minutes.”
“I’m feeling generous.”
He smiles. “You know what that means then?”
“What?”
“That sounds like fifteen minutes of a slow dessert. Lucky me.”
I laugh out another, “What?” right as he twists me onto my back and disappears under the covers.
My ankles lift onto his shoulder once more, and his face disappears beneath me.

“Okay, well, it’s the day after Memorial Day.”
“Yes.”
“And on the day after Memorial Day, we open a little later since we stayed open so late the night before.”
“Makes sense.”
“So, I normally get more time to walk the park when a man isn’t keeping me captive.”
“That guy sounds like a dick.”
I laugh. He holds me tighter.

“I have to leave in five minutes,” I say.
Emory’s unintelligible mumbles resemble a puppy’s grumbles. He’s adorable. I would put him in my little pocket if he fit.
“Talk to me,” he says.
“About what?”
“Anything. I love your voice.”

“You’ve ruined other women for me,” he says. “You must know that.”
Emory traces my jaw with his large hand, stroking down to my chin.
“Don’t worry. No other man can compare.”
“No, beautiful,” he mutters. “No other men will ever get the chance.”
BANG!
My stomach drops.
I accept his comment without words, tonguing his thumb into my mouth and sucking on it as he hisses in air.
When it pops out, he whispers, “Mine.”
And without even a second thought, I find myself saying, “Yours.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you were an engineer, Mr. Dawson.”
“Say that again.”
“Mr. Dawson.”
“Good girl. Eyes on me.”

I’ve heard men say their women taste like candy. Or fruits. Or something else ridiculous.
Why mask it with such flowery language?
Lorelei tastes like pussy. And I fucking love it.

“Enough of that. Ready for Employee Night?”
“Only if you are.”
“With you? Always.”
I can’t resist the smile that spreads across my face. My heart flutters when he returns the gesture.
“Then, let’s go make fun of teenagers.”

“Come with me to Employee Night tonight,” I say.
His mouth ticks up into a sly smile. “Are you asking me on a date, Lorelei?”
“Oh, definitely not,” I say. “What would our lawyers think?”