She blushes. "You think?"
He nods.
She turns to Eve and Ian for a minute. They're no longer making out. Just giving the happy couple enough space to blush over their cake.
I pick up the cake knife. The pastel pink paper plates. Show off their hot pink pussy motif. "Equal embarrassment."
She shakes her head. "Did you?"
"Did I…" I offer her the knife.
"She did, didn't she?" She looks to Ty.
He nods. "Probably. You'll have to—"
"I can't cut a dick in half," she says.
"It's cake," he says.
"But it represents you." She shakes her head. "Never."
What are they talking about? I look to Cam for a clue. Remember, I find him incredibly irritating.
Then he leans in to whisper an answer and I forget everything but how badly I want his lips on my skin.
"She's asking is it comes," he says.
Oh. "Does it?"
"It's filled with white cream frosting."
Oh god. "Your idea?"
"Yes."
"You're smart sometimes."
"Sometimes." He laughs. His usual laugh. The one that usually means I'm teasing and it's meaningless.
Now…
I don't know. My thoughts are fuzzy. Gin-tinted.
My inhibitions are fading fast.
I'm this close to tugging at his tie and ordering him to put up or shut up. Here. In front of my sister.
Ty nudges Indie.
She shakes her head. "I can't take a knife to it, even if it's cake."
"What would you normally do?" he asks.
"Don't do that. You'll get a yeast infection," I say.
She laughs. "No, I…" She looks to her fiancé. When he nods, yes, she shakes her head here goes nothing and she grabs the cake dick.
Sure enough, it squirts white icing.
"Oh my god." She pulls her hand back. Licks the frosting from her fingers.
"Are you really stopping there? Cruel." Ty asks.
"I learned from the best." She smiles.
He wraps his fingers around her wrist. Brings her hand to his mouth. Licks the frosting from her digits.
I try not to think about the implications.
The guys joke about the horror of taking a knife to the cake dick, but they still slice the thing, and dole it onto paper plates.
Cam hands one to me. "Is that enough?"
It's a small square, by my standards. "There isn't any frosting cum. How could it be enough?"
"Go ahead." He motions to the cake dick on the table. "No one's going to stop you."
"No, Cam. I couldn't do that to you. It would be all you'd ever think about." I don't mean to say it with irritation, but I do.
His eyes flare with frustration, but he shakes it off.
Ugh.
Whatever.
Men are the worst. Cake is better. Even phallic cake.
I grab a fork, find a seat on the couch, try to ignore the rest of the festivities.
I need to think. I need to focus on something other than how much Cam's hot and cold bullshit annoys me.
Yes, he's handsome and funny and sexy as hell.
And—
Would it be so bad if I dragged him to the bedroom to mount him?
Fuck it. I leave the cake. Psych myself up in the bathroom.
Tonight is fun. Tonight is for my sister.
Cam doesn't affect me.
I move into the main room with proud posture, but I melt the second I see Cam.
He's so… here. And handsome. And sexy. And hurt.
And ugh.
I send my sister a text—checking on our drinks—and I slip out of the room, walk to the elevator bay, hit the call sign.
Finally.
I step into the tiny silver space.
But I don't get air or space or room to breathe.
Cam slips into the elevator after me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sienna
I try to focus on the illuminated Lounge button.
The bar isn't the place to check on our drinks, but it's closer than the lobby, and it's got a balcony.
That's air.
Space.
Distance between me and the person making my life difficult.
I take a deep breath. Push an exhale through my teeth. Try to channel an inner calm.
But I don't have any calm.
I'm buzzing.
He's right there. All tall and dark and strong. And I want to touch him so badly. I want to slap him and kiss him and tell him to fuck off and tell him to fuck me.
He steps backward. So he's nearly against the wall.
I stay next to the row of buttons on the right. But I can see him, through the shiny wall.
"Do you need another floor?" I ask.
"What are you doing, Sienna?"
"I need a drink."
"You've had three."
I wrap my fingers around my purse. "I want another."
"You're not twenty-one."
"Are you going to tell on me?"
He doesn't have a comeback. Or maybe he doesn't want to argue. I don't know. Who knows? How could anyone begin to know what the fuck Cameron Hunt wants?
I grip my purse tighter. Focus intently on the illuminated button. A light yellow. Exactly halfway between cream and egg yolk.
Not all that interesting. But better than trying to figure out what his problem is.
I like you. And I don't like people after I fuck them.
Finally, the elevator arrives. The doors slide open.