Cupcakes and Christmas: A Bake Off inspired MM Christmas Romance by R.J. Scott

Author:R.J. Scott [Scott, R.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: to format, bought, Christmas
ISBN: 9781785642357
Publisher: Love Lane Books Ltd
Published: 2020-11-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

We all know who is really a person’s best friend. Yours sincerely, Chocolate cake

Justin

Dinner was the weirdest hour I’ve spent in my entire life. Well one of them at least. It involved me and Brody sitting facing each other and not talking about what had happened at all. Not one mention of the extra snowball fight or the way we ended up lying in the snow, or that we’d wrestled, or that we’d kissed.

He’d leaned down enough to let me know he was interested and I was lost to the sensation of his weight on me. I tugged him the rest of the way, desperate to get a proper taste of him, and the kiss had been everything I thought it would be. He kissed as he baked, with ferocious intensity, and if he’d suggested we go to his room, or mine, I would have given him an immediate yes. It wasn’t like I’d been with loads of guys. One actually. To me, sex was something that happened after a while and only when it could be called making love.

Only one other man had gotten to that point where I got to know them as a person, and when the attraction was so strong that I couldn’t stop myself. So God knows how I’d ended up wanting Brody as badly as I did. I’d had an hour in my room to think, and it wasn’t pretty. When I was fourteen, Rick was the boy I’d been placed with at my final foster home. We’d been friends for a year before we’d done anything more than even kiss, and the sex had been awkwardly clumsy. Since then, I’d hidden myself behind meaningless flirting and nothing more, not that I didn’t have a sex drive, hell, my online porn collection was extensive. It wasn’t that I didn’t have that push to get off, but with someone else it had to be right.

Special.

I’d only really known Brody for two days. Fuck’s sake. Then, of course, the spiraling became steeper, and by the time I was dressed for dinner, I’d talked myself into believing that the urge to take him back to my room was just because I needed him to buy into a relationship for my social media platforms.

And what kind of man does that make me?

Shallow. Pathetic. A waste of time.

And now dinner, which was an awkward mess of nothing at all that I wish I wasn’t sitting through, particularly as every time he moved, we knocked feet. Where was my natural enthusiasm, where was my focus? This show, forming connections with these people,

“What’s your steak like?” he asked me, and I glanced up at his open expression and then down to my steak. It was perfect actually, soft, locally sourced, the bite I’d taken had been perfect. But when I checked around me, everyone else had finished, and it was just me with my big ass untouched steak staring up at me.

“Good, but I think I’ll get some air.” I

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