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This once.
It only makes me want her more, and the last half-hour watching her eat the dessert only solidified her fate, even if she has no idea.
The way she took each bite like it was life-changing was better than any porn ever made. I’ve never found porn that enticing, really. But this girl’s my own personal Pornhub.
Fuck.
I don’t even know her name.
I start to ask, but there’s a hard slap on my shoulder and I spin my head, ready to lay out that fucker I escorted out, thinking he may have gotten into some liquid courage and come back to gather up some of his pride.
Instead, there’s Cyrus with a snarky grin. “Hi.” He snaps his tongue behind his teeth, extending his hand to…
Fuck, I didn’t get to ask her name.
“I’m Cyrus, this ugly fucker’s brother.”
She takes his hand, her eyes narrowing as they shake, then she pulls away. “I see the psychotic resemblance in your eyes.”
Cyrus nods, looking down at me as I silently tell him to fuck the hell off right now.
“Not inaccurate,” he answers as I shove his hand off me, threatening him with a hard stare.
He responds by taking a step back. He knows me better than anyone, so I don’t have to tell him he’s about to get an ass kicking for him to know it’s coming.
“Just wanted to tell you I’m heading out to see grandma. Wondered if you had a message for her?” Cyrus nods toward the door. “Noticed your date from earlier didn’t stick around.”
“Fuck off, brother.” He’s pushing the line and if it wouldn’t make her get up and ball it out of here, I’d knock that fucking smirk off his face.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He bends in a little bow toward the angel across the table, then shakes his head at me. “I’ll talk to you later. Before I get to Gran, I’m gonna go chase down some asshole who skated out on his bill. Dumbass. Sis had his name on the reservation. And now, I have his address. So, off I go. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
With that, he’s moving toward the door, whistling and skipping like he’s on his way to fucking prom.
“Well,” she says, drawing my eyes back as she does this little lip-popping thing she’s done a couple of times already. So fucking cute. Then the lines in her forehead furrow as if she’s suddenly remembered something unpleasant.
Her happy focus evaporates, and I hate it. Something’s bothering her, and I’m not having it.
“What’s wrong?” I demand, leaning elbows on the table, the knuckles of my fists meeting under my chin.
I’m her keeper, her problem solver, and whatever happens to her, happens to me.
“Nothing’s wrong.” She shakes her head, eyes down as she tries to put on a smile, but it’s not real. I can already tell her real smile from her bullshit one, and this one is full of it.
“Don’t lie. To me. Ever.”
I enunciate each word like a Mafia Don letting his minions know, one step out of line, and they’re sleeping with the fucking fishes. I’m not sure it’s the right move, because I see a flash of fear pass over her face.
But I have to fucking remind myself that to her, I’m a stranger—even if to me, I’m already designing her ten-year anniversary ring and a trip to Cyprus for a month-long stay at our second home.
I need to dial it back.
“Come on,” I say, trying on some gentleness. I retrieve her hand, and her eyes come back up. Fuck, I could fall into them right now and never escape. “What’s wrong?”
“I just…” She scans the room. “I need to find the manager.”
“Why? Is something wrong? Do you feel sick?” Panic needles up the back of my neck. The thought she could be sick ignites a fear inside me I can’t ever remember having before.
She wriggles in her seat, a shift in her demeanor. A little quirk above her left eyebrow.
