Page 66 of King of Hollywood

Felix’s hypothetical tail wagged.

If he was a chihuahua, I was the doberman panting after him. Willing to jump through hoops for him—my doggy brain fully set on breeding him into the ground. He certainly made me want to howl.

It was like he’d reprogrammed the way my brain worked. And I couldn’t even be mad about it—Especially after what we’d shared, and how many times he’d jumped to my rescue.

He was mine, silly pies and all.

And I didn’t want to share him—just like I didn’t want to share my new treat.

I was half-tempted to hunt down every person he’d ever slept with and eliminate the competition entirely.

“Do you like it?” Felix asked, his hands slipping into his pockets as he rocked onto his toes, then back onto his heels. He looked like a needy puppy, all fluffy blond hair, his eyes searching mine.

“I love it,” I said simply, because it was true. I squeezed the box, my heart fluttering. “Would you like to come in?” I cocked my head to the side again, jerking my chin backward. Felix twisted a little, his eyes alight with curiosity as he glanced down the pristine hallway, gaze flickering to the line of Italian loafers on a stand by the door.

Good.

Gaze at my shoes, Felix.

See how well I take care of the leather and know I’ll take care of you too.

“Are you cooking?” he asked, sniffing the air.

I nodded, twisting my body to allow him a view of the archway that led to the kitchen. Almost like it was perfectly timed, the timer above the stove beeped. Quickly, I shut the door on Felix, hurrying down the hallway to deal with the chicken before it burned.

I set his pie down, put my oven mitts on, and bent over.

Chicken saved, I leaned back to admire it, hands on my hips.

It was only then that I realized what I’d done.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no, I had not meant to do that—to shut the door on him—oh fuck.

I sprinted back to the front door, yanking it open, mitts still on. Felix was miraculously still there. He blinked at me and my now frazzled expression. Then he laughed. It was a glorious sound, soft and husky.

“You stayed.”

“I’ll let you cook,” he said—in answer to my earlier invitation, the one I’d given him before I’d slammed the door in his face. “I just had something else I wanted to give you. You mentioned that you might want to clean my house, and I know that’s weird but I…”

I hadn’t mentioned so much as I’d demanded that he let me do it. But it was cute of him to soften my words.

“I do want to clean your house,” I blurted. “Very much.” And then, because he deserved an apology, I added, “I am so sorry for shutting the door in your face. And running.” The words tasted like ash on my tongue as I waved my gloved hands at him.

“Don’t be.” Felix grinned even wider. He crossed the distance between us, slipping between my outstretched arms and tipping up onto his tiptoes for a kiss. I leaned down immediately, answering his silent command.

The kiss was chaste and soft.

It tasted like cherry chapstick. The one I’d given him last night before I’d left. He tucked something into my pocket, something small and light. “In case you need it to get in.” Then he kissed me again, and every thought in my head fled.

My stomach filled with butterflies, my socked toes curling against the tile.

When we parted the second time, Felix reached up to gently swipe his thumb over my lip, probably to clean off the leftover chapstick.

“Goodnight, Marshall,” he said, following our usual pattern.