Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

“I helped write it,” I tease.

“Kellan Walsh, you... sneaky trickster.”

I laugh. Sneaky trickster—that’s all she’s got? I step out of the pantry with an armful of food and shrug. “I’m a closet whore for Dr. Seuss myself.”

She shakes her head, still laughing, and then steps to take some of the food out of my arms. “Holy hell, Kellan. Do you think we have enough snacks?”

I lay out the array of food on the countertop, and Cleo starts to weed through it. “White powdered doughnuts—score!” She sets the two packs off to the side. “Twizzlers—these things are my super fave.” She pushes them into the pile, and I smile at her enthusiasm. “Teddy Grahams—hell yes, childhood! Olive would love these.” I watch as her smile falters, but she pastes it back on.

“KIND chocolate and peanut butter protein bar, yes, please. Hell yes, Nutella and these godly little dipping sticks. Kellan, you have great taste in junk food.” I laugh, and Cleo wraps her arms around her food pile. “You’re a shopping god.” She moves a pack of candied peanuts, a bag of Nilla Wafers, and a small bag of Doritos into the stack, rejecting two bags of pork rinds and one bag of Fritos.

“No pork rinds?” I tease.

“Hell no. Those things are sick. Pigs are super smart, you know.”

“But not when there’s bacon around, huh?”

She hangs her head. “I know. I’m evil.”

I laugh, and turn to get a grocery bag out of the pantry. “Manning left those here.”

“Ewww. No thank you. Pork rinds are a Southern thing I’ve never gotten behind,” she tells me.

I hold a plastic grocery bag open, and Cleo dumps her booty in. “This is going to be the yummiest sad day I’ve ever had.”

That makes me smile. I take the bag from her and set it on the counter, then I grab a stick of beef jerky from the refrigerator and peel it open.

“You refrigerate your beef jerky?”

“It’s the only way.”

“How about just not eating it?”

I shake my head and rip a bite off. “Protein,” I say between chewing.

“Eat an egg.” She wrinkles her nose. “Eat chicken.”

“I don’t do leftovers, Cleo baby. And I’m not up for cooking right now. Unless you want something?”

She shakes her head.

I finish off the jerky in three more bites and toss the wrapper. Then I grab a TwoCal out of the refrigerator, peel the aluminum top off, and dump it into a glass.

“That looks disgusting,” Cleo leans against the counter as I swallow the creamy liquid. Her eyes run over my navy blue Dr. Who t-shirt and my ragged ass jeans. “Is it for body building?”

I smirk. “You think I look like a body builder, Cleo baby?”

Her cheeks redden. “Stop calling me that.”

I sweep my eyes down myself. I know I’m looking pretty cut right now. Since May, I’ve been working out like a fiend and piling on the muscle mass. My body fat has got to be low as shit, and yeah—before I started dropping weight these last two weeks or so, my shirts had gotten tight as fuck tight around the chest and arms.

I can’t help a smug look. I toss back the TwoCal and set the glass in the sink, beside another empty one. Cleo peeks at them.

“You drank one of those earlier today, too? Like for breakfast?”

“You worrying over my diet, Cleo baby?”

She shoves me in the chest, and I wrap my hand around her thin, tanned wrist. I look down at her face—her teasing eyes, her playful smile—and all I want is to kiss those soft, full lips.