Page 35 of From Drummer to Gamer

“Go to sleep, Sierra. This can wait.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll crash after this. But on one condition, though.” She stepped forward, an excited gleam in her eyes. “Just promise you’ll buy me a month’s worth of Cheetos.”

I’d been in negotiations where people have demanded I give them money or diamonds or even my music, but never Cheetos. But I guess there was a first time for everything.

“Fine,” I agreed. “But can you wait?” I motioned to me. “I’ll take a quick shower and be out in ten.”

“Shower?” she breathed in question as if it was only then she realized that I’d just returned from the gym. Her eyes trailed over my soaked black T-shirt, sticking to my muscles and my shorts that ended right above my knees, showing off my muscular legs.

“Sierra?”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “Yes, shower. You can go shower. I’ll wait,” she said, red painting her cheeks.

I nodded, turning around.

“Wait,” she shouted, bounding toward me. “What’s this?” Her curious eyes pointed at the drink in my hand.

“My coffee.”

“Did you go out to get it?”

“Yes, I always do.”

“That’s such a waste of money,” she chided. “Let me have a taste so I can make it for you.”

Before I could offer, she leaned in and closed her lips over the straw.Lush and pink.

Her eyes squeezed closed as a soft moan slipped from her throat. The sound made heat pool down my blood. I tensed and stepped away just as she removed her lips.

That was a thick, coiled line I didn’t want to cross.

“It’s caramel,” she said, sweetly as if she didn’t realize the stunt she pulled on me.

“I could’ve told you.”

Her eyes widened. “Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Mocha.”

“What?”

“It’s caramel mocha latte. Iced.”

“I’ll take note of that.” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

Not able to take another second of it, I left, clutching the drink in my hand as I sipped, shutting down the fact that her lips were on it.

After the coldest possible shower I could take, I entered the kitchen once again, only this time, the smell of brown butter and sugar wafted in the air.

“Made you muffins.” Sierra gestured to the tray on the counter while she sat at the breakfast table with a pencil poking out of her bun. “I attempted to make your coffee. Try it.” She looked at me expectantly as she slid a glass my way.

When the hell did she have the time to do all this? Did she have an extra hand that I didn’t know?

“The muffins were already in the oven,” she stated, noticing my puzzled look. “And I had leftover caramel sauce and chocolate. Try it.” She bounced in her seat, nodding toward the drink.

I strictly adhered to one sugary drink a day. That was one rule I never crossed,ever. Yet I couldn’t be the reason for sadness in her hopeful eyes. So I relented like a hopeless sucker.

“So?” she asked, wide-eyed.