“Carrot cake, I like carrot cake.”
“Mine’s Russian honey cake.”
Cecil chuckled again. “I didn’t ask.”
“It was a freebie answer.”
“I don’t bake.” Though he’d always figured he’d be pretty good at decorating cakes and stuff. He decorated lattes so why not cakes?
“You buying me a cake would make me just as happy as if you were to bake one.” Bjorn leaned into him, making them sway.
* * * *
Damn, now Bjorn was hungry. And he wanted to bake Cecil a carrot cake, wanted to watch Cecil eat his carrot cake. He bit back a groan as his dick twitched in the too-tight trunks. He needed to think of something else. “Who was your first girlfriend?” Yup, that’s the way to shatter a fantasy.
“It’s not your turn to ask a question.”