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  Word vomit again. I swallowed my explanation. Tried again.

  “It’s faster than boiling milk,” I said. “And I hate the way skim milk gets when you boil it. And when it’s scalded, gross. This way, using the powdered milk, the cocoa is as creamy as using milk, but without the gross parts.”

  “And the rest?”

  “That,” I said with a grin, “is all just bonus.”

  Johnny smiled, too, though slowly, as though he’d almost forgotten how. “Sounds good.”

  I handed him an oversize mug emblazoned with a skull and crossbones, and took down my favorite mug for myself. It was also oversize, with a picture of the TARDIS on it. I mixed the cocoa in a glass mixing bowl, the kind with a handle and a spout and a nifty plastic lid. I even used a fancy whisk.

  Johnny watched, saying nothing. I pretended I didn’t notice. I also pretended I wasn’t as clumsy as I was when I knew he was watching me.

  I poured the steaming cocoa into the mugs and pushed the marshmallows and chocolate chips toward him. “Here. You can add your own bonus.”

  “I think this is good like this.”

  “Really?” I plopped three marshmallows into my mug, where they rapidly melted and spread sugary white goodness all over the cocoa. I added a handful of chocolate chips. “It’s reallllly good.”

  Johnny took a marshmallow and put it in the cocoa, then a few chocolate chips. “Shit.”

  “No, no, much better than that.” I sipped and watched him through the steam. “You’ll like it, I promise you.”

  He lifted his mug and tasted, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s good.”

  I was grateful for the island between us. I leaned a hip against it, sipping slowly so we could both act like the hot liquid took up so much attention it was impossible to talk. I even took my time blowing on it so I didn’t burn my tongue. Usually I was so impatient I scalded myself.

  “So,” Johnny said after a few more minutes filled with awkward silence broken only by the sound of us both blowing on our cocoa and slurping.

  I waited. He didn’t go on. He put his mug down, though, and then his hands on the counter. He looked at me, but not the way he did in my imagination. In the fugues, Johnny looked at me like I was something special he couldn’t quite figure out how he’d been lucky enough to get. Now he looked at me as if he simply couldn’t figure me out.

  “Yes?” I played at being calm and composed, but inside my guts were doing jumping jacks.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. Softly at first, just a giggle, then another and more until I had to cover my mouth to hold back a full-on guffaw. I managed to squeak out a “Really?”

  I’d seen his smile so many times in photos, in movies and in those magic times when I was dark. It looked the same now, but different, too. He was holding back a little. “Yeah. Really.”

  My laughter eased, my belly muscles hurting a little but in a good way. I wiped at the corners of my eyes. “So talk.”

  “I just thought we should discuss what happened at the studio.”

  This sobered me, though not totally. “Uh-huh.”

  “And that you should know why…it won’t work.”

  It wasn’t something I’d never heard before, or never said, but it wasn’t at all what I thought he’d say. I put my mug on the counter and licked my mouth, not wanting to face him with chocolate smeared on my lips. “What won’t work, exactly?”

  He still had both his hands on the countertop, and now his fingers twitched. “Us.”

  “Ah.” I wasn’t much good at flirting, but I wasn’t any better at faking a lack of interest. “Why not?”

  Johnny blinked, his smile growing infinitesimally wider. “Emm.”

  My breath hitched when he said my name. I wanted to close my eyes and drift on that sound, that single syllable. I didn’t, though. I kept my gaze on his, not looking away because he wasn’t, either.

  “Johnny.” I couldn’t disguise the longing in my voice, and wouldn’t have wanted to even if it had been possible.

  He groaned, under his breath but still audible.

  The sound shot pleasure all through me, tingly and unexpected. I felt my eyes go wide. My nipples hardened a moment later. My clit pulsed. I was glad I’d put down my mug, because I’d have dropped it, otherwise. As it was, I had to put both my hands on the island top to keep my knees from buckling. It was that intense, the sensation. That powerful.

  “I should go,” Johnny said a half moment later, before I’d had time to fully process the noise he’d made.

  He was half out of his seat when I moved around the island to stand in front of him. “Wait.”

  He sat back in his seat like I’d pushed him, though I wasn’t even close enough to touch him. Not yet. “Emm…”

  “Oh, fuck me, I love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth,” I said without thinking.

  He groaned again. His throat worked as he swallowed. He looked a little wild-eyed. I could see his pulse throbbing at the base of his throat, just once, twice, quickly.

  Four or five steps separated us, at most. I took three of them, my feet sliding on waxed wooden floors, the hem of my T-shirt riding up too high for modesty. I wanted to smell him. I didn’t think about how it looked, my sudden approach. I didn’t care.

  “Emm,” he said again, and this time it didn’t sound like a warning or a protest.

  It sounded like an invitation.

  I moved. He shifted. His chair was high enough that when I slid between his parted knees, they pressed my hips. I leaned close, eyes half-closed, and breathed deeply. Johnny didn’t move away, didn’t move closer, just stayed as stiff and rigid as stone.

  I opened my eyes. I was so close to him I could see the speckles in his eyes. I could count his eyelashes. I could see the tiny speck of marshmallow at the corner of his mouth.

  But I didn’t kiss him.

  He kissed me.

  Eager, open mouths, tongues sliding, teeth clashing. It was perfect. His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, and I gasped into his mouth at how much I wanted him. He tasted so fucking good, I wanted to eat him.

  The chair rocked alarmingly when I straddled him, but his arm went around me, his hand grabbing my ass as his feet hit the floor and kept us from tipping. My shirt rode up. His belt buckle was cold against me, the denim of his jeans deliciously rough. When his hand met my bare flesh, Johnny groaned again, louder, and broke the kiss just long enough to mutter my name again.

  I cupped his face in my hands and broke the kiss to look into his eyes. Our mouths were still so close that when I spoke, my lips brushed his with every word. “What about this isn’t working?”

  His other hand moved down to my ass, and both squeezed gently. The chair rocked again, but I didn’t worry it would tip over. I squeezed my thighs against his hips and drew my thumb over his lower lip.

  He drew it into his mouth and sucked gently before biting it lightly. “None of it. All of it. Whatever. I can’t think straight with you on my lap like this.”

  “I could be on your face instead,” I said.

  Johnny muttered an expletive so garbled I couldn’t be sure if he were cursing or praying. He kissed me again. His mouth punished mine, and I took it gladly. I was slipping a little, shifting on his lap as he moved to keep the chair from tipping, me from falling. It was messy and it was lovely, but I had to get off him or else find myself on the floor with him on top of me, and not in the way I wanted.

  With my feet braced on the floor, our mouths still fused, I could reach between us to press my palm against the bulge in his jeans. I’d never been so bold as this, never, except with him. There…and here.

  He put his hand over mine and broke the kiss. “Jesus.”

  I took the time to catch my breath. I didn’t take my hand away. I looked into his eyes, his pupils gone wide with desire. There was no faking that. I licked the taste of him from my lips and rememb