𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐘

[28] Midnight Snack

m i d n i g h t  s n a c k
COVEY'S POV:

When I can't sleep, I make these things called Three Ingredient Peanut Butter cookies. Oh my dinos, they're to die for. So even though I'm at Conrad's house, and he has barely the kitchen sink in his fridge, I found the three ingredients that I needed to make them.

And I'm currently stuffing one in my mouth as I walk with a plateful of them into the living room.

As soon as I sprawl out of the couch and reach for the TV remote, I'm caught red-handed by none other than the devil himself. "Covey, why're you up?" he asks, his voice raspy and husky and tired. Oh sweet heavens I want to bottle it up and keep it forever.

"Couldn't sleep. Cookie?" I offer, showing the plate to him. 

He shakes his head and gives me a lopsided smirk. "I'll eat your cookies though."

"You already have," I say, rolling my eyes. Does this guy's hormones ever stop?

Conrad walks over and lays down on top of me with his legs in between mine. He puts his head on my chest. Then finally, he grabs a cookie. "Why didn't you just tell me you couldn't sleep?"

"Because you looked comfy," I say, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

"I was comfy and perfectly fine when you were next to me," he grumbles, taking a bite. He moans, chewing. "Oh my god, these are bomb. What the fuck? Where have these been my whole life?"

"Can you like humanly, physically, mentally, or even emotionally, not drop the f-word every time you open your mouth?" I ask, a laugh escaping my mouth. "You act all high and mighty in the classroom, but you're actually really far from a saint when you're not."

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and he reaches up to nuzzle his head in my neck. "Covey Jensen, sometimes I wonder if you're even real. Like who the fuck cares?"

"I don't," I say, raising an eyebrow. "Cuss all you want, because honestly, I have no say in that. I just think it's funny how you say, 'what the fuck?' and then you groan and say, 'fuck me.'" I shrug. "I mean, does 'fuck' have more meanings than 'set,' the word with over six-hundred meanings—"

"Baby, you can't do this to my brain," he groans, peppering kisses down my neck. "It's twelve in the morning and I've already told you not to say those words."

I roll my eyes to myself playfully, and say, "You know you can cuss all you want, I don't care."

"You just like to hear me talk," he says, cockily.

"You like to hear yourself talk," I correct him.

"Whatever."

I tilt my head up and he kisses me harder, nipping at my skin. "You know it's true," I whisper breathlessly, running a hand through his hair as he does what he's so good at doing.

"I can talk to you in another way," he continues, lifting his head to give me that devilish look. The one that makes you forget who you are, where you are, and why you are where you are.

I shake my head and let out a laugh, pulling his jaw in my hands. "So speak."

And he kisses me. And it's so friggin' good.

Maybe I should set up a kissing booth for him. He'd make a ton of money—wait, heckers nopers—you really thought. Conrad's lips are mine. Hehe.

He leans up and repositions himself in between me, wedging his body so he's fully on top, fully in control and... woah, this took a turn real fast. He grips my hips, and I instinctively drape my legs over his. And then he pulls me to him and grinds into me, our tongues brushing against one another as moans escape both our mouths at the same time.