Maybe it’s the cake frosting, though; it’s everywhere in the kitchen, and she’s gonna have one hell of a time cleaning up the mess. After she tore the hunk out of my hands to toss it back into the trash, it made a mess all over, falling on the floor, frosting splattering on the cabinet front.
Bet she regrets it now, I chuckle to myself as I elbow the faucet on, squirting my palms with foaming soap, then rubbing them together.
Rinse.
Repeat.
Rinse.
Repeat.
She’s still standing close, clearly posturing by taking up more space than she needs to let me know who the boss is. Whose house this is.
Her rules.
Her cake.
Fine.
“I won’t eat nothin’ else without your permission.”
Posey rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say you couldn’t eat anything without my permission, but the cake, Duke? Come on, you don’t just grab the first thing you see and stick it in your mouth.”
I do, though.
I can.
Clearing my throat, I turn, taking the terry cloth towel she’s holding, and dry my hands. “I live alone, so I don’t have to share.”
“You’re not living alone right now.”
“I forgot.”
“So it seems.” Her lips are pressed together, and I notice that her lips match the bow in her hair.
A bow?
It’s cute—appropriate for a teacher who teaches small kids. Not sexy, though, but I doubt she gives a shit about that.
Posey is proper.
Proper Posey.
Josephine.
The name echoes in my brain as I watch her watching me, a blob of frosting on the front of her basic white T-shirt.
I reach to wipe it from her but remember myself. She likely doesn’t want me to touch her, and if she did, she’d likely want me to ask for permission.
I pull my hand back. “You have something right there.”
Awkwardly, I point, feeling stupid when she glances down. “Where?”
“There.”
I point again to her left breast, noticing it’s a decent-sized tit, pushing on her basic white T-shirt.
Both of them are.