“Moist,” I can’t help adding, just to see what she’ll say.

I bite down into a large square, groaning. I pop the lid, inhaling the smell of rich chocolate. We stop onto the sidewalk so she can rifle through her tote, pulling out a clear Tupperware container with a red lid and handing it to me. Of course I’m not going to make you beg.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, and husky, like she’s having dirty thoughts about me, too. Is she skinny or curvy? Big boobs or flat-chested? Is she shy and modest or self-confident? I wonder what her body looks like under all those layers. She just hides it better than others, burying it beneath that damn jacket. Scarlett isn’t the conservative she appears to be I would bet money on it. I have to admit, I threw down that innuendo to measure her aversion, grinning when she shoots me a sardonic sideways glance, clamping her lips shut, tempted to retort. “Are you going to make me beg for a taste?” “Pfft.” When she doesn’t deny it, goddamn if my heart doesn’t flutter. “I made brownies yesterday and wanted to get them out of my house before I ate them all myself.” “What’s inside your bag? It’s been driving me nuts.” Without realizing it, our pace has slackened from a brisk walk to keep up with the group to a slow stroll, and soon, we’re a good hundred paces behind her friends, almost an entire block separating us, Scarlett’s tote bag swinging along with her stride. Scarlett would have gotten there, seen there was no party, and within minutes, found out where everyone was through the power of social media, like everyone else tonight did when they arrived tonight. “Thanks for waiting for us tonight-you didn’t have to,” Scarlett finally says, her friends booking it a few feet in front of us with newfound urgency.

Jock row jock hard novel