I told you I couldn’t bake. But of course you would bring more baking supplies than I had ever seen.
“Make me a cake,” you grin. That smile. I never thought I would meet a you, but it all makes sense now. Doesn’t it?
“I told you I can’t bake,” I smiled and threw my hands into the air. You win.
“Then start stripping, and I’ll go easy on the taste testing later on. C’mon. Let’s get naked and we can forget about the cake.”
“Jesus…You never stop.”
“I’m only kidding. Look, I got you an apron too. See? Would I get you an apron if I wanted you to prove to me that you actually bake naked? Look, it’s even from that favorite over-priced girly store that you like so much.”
“Ah! It’s green too!”
“I figured if you can’t bake, you should at least look like you can.”
“Awe, that’s sweet. Kind of.”
“It really is. I’m going to finish reading. I’ll come help you in a bit?”
So I started mixing the dry ingredients.
The baking powder.
The baking soda.
And cinnamon even though it doesn’t call for it in the recipe. (Aren’t I naughty?)
Then I started mixing the wet ingredients.
I felt you behind me. You pressed your hips against mine. I pressed my hands onto the countertop, and you kissed my neck. I closed my eyes. It’s scary to think that you know all of my weak spots, but I feel the best when I’m the most vulnerable. I feel the best when I can’t see you. I feel the best when I feel your breath.
“Remember when I said I was kidding about getting naked?”
“…I wasn’t kidding.”