“I made s’mores the other day,” Taylor offers with a big smile, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. “They were so good.”
Her so has eight syllables and all of them drip with innuendo.
“That’s great,” I say, since I’m not interested in entertaining any syllables or innuendo with someone barely past puberty.
“Do you like s’mores, Patrick?”
“Who doesn’t like s’mores?”
“I was wondering, though, if you might have any tips for me on how to make them. Like, how do I get the chocolate and marshmallow to come together perfectly.” She stops at the door, leans her hip against it suggestively, and twirls a strand of her hair.
And I do believe s’mores porn is officially a thing.
Even though I pride myself on making the world’s greatest version of the campfire treat, I keep my answer simple, but clear. “It’s all in how long you let the ingredients age,” I say, since Taylor is twenty, twenty-one at best. “See you next week.”
I say goodbye and leave, catching a train downtown, then walking through the streets of lower Manhattan.
Do I get stares because of the cat on my back?
Hell, yeah.
Do I enjoy it?
Absolutely.
I smile and nod, giving a few salutes and a couple of how are yous and even a meow as a little kid walks by with her mom and whispers while pointing at my shoulder. As if I don’t know there’s a badass pussycat purring in my ear.
As I turn onto the block with my building, he’s not the only one purring.
Because there, right fucking there in front of the lobby, wearing reflective sunglasses and jeans that hug her curves deliciously, is a certain woman.
Mia Summers. Tiny but mighty. A powerful sprite with wavy hair, hazel eyes, a soft heart, and a quick wit that I just dig.
I met her several months ago, and it’s safe to say she’s claimed center stage in my mind ever since then.
When I see Mia, when I talk to Mia, when I spend time with Mia, it confirms my belief that some things are simple.
Like whether a cat drags his whole body on the floor or he gamely trots alongside you.
It’s a yes or no.
A black or white.
You’re either attracted to your best friend’s sister or you’re not.
For the record, the answer is I am, so fucking much.
On behalf of 1001 Dark Nights,
Liz Berry and M.J. Rose would like to thank ~
Steve Berry
Doug Scofield
Kim Guidroz
Jillian Stein
InkSlinger PR
Dan Slater
Asha Hossain
Chris Graham
Pamela Jamison
Fedora Chen
Kasi Alexander
Jessica Johns
Dylan Stockton
Richard Blake
BookTrib After Dark
and Simon Lipskar
Table of Contents
Book Description
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Another Epilogue
Stud Finder (1001 Dark Nights) Page 11
