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It’s a dare I’ll accept. Be there every fucking step of the way, and when reality smacks and she’s left choking for air, I’ll pat her back with a grin.
There’s a reason we are both here, and I won’t let her stand in my way of putting together this enigma and the feelings she evokes.
“Do you like green papaya—”
“I love it! I’ve been known to eat an entire container all by myself.” Her little squeal is so far removed from the woman I met earlier yesterday, but I like it. More than I probably should, but this is another side to her, and uncovering each is fast becoming an obsession. “This place has the best, too. Did you get any drunken noodles? And chopsticks? Can’t eat this without chopsticks.”
“You’re beautiful when you smile.” The smile drops and she eyes the gun and then me, trying to figure out who’s faster if push came to shove. Dangerous little criminal. “I’m not taking your piece, calmate.”
“What does that mean?” she asks after a minute of silence, watching me dish her meal onto paper plates I brought with me. Noodles, salad, and my newest addiction: chicken basil fried rice.
Setting her food down, I reach back into the bag and produce a few sauces and the chopsticks she needs. “It means to calm down. Now eat.”
“I’m not that—” A loud growl comes from her stomach, and I raise a brow. “Fine. I’m starving...are you happy?”
“Very.” Plastic fork in my hand, I grab the container of rice and dig in. No talking. No glares. We eat in silence while watching the other. I’m leaning against the counter behind me and she’s perched like the queen she is in her seat, eyes happy while enjoying a little takeout with me.
This feels right.
“Can’t use chopsticks?” Mariah asks, bringing me away from that thought. I’m so at ease with her. She’s patting her stomach after finishing two-thirds of her plate and eyes the rest of the salad. “Are you clumsy...” Mariah picks up her iced tea and brings it to her lips, sipping while assessing me “...or a messy eater?”
Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I mock glare. “No. Just never used them.”
“So, the big bad man isn’t good at something.”
“I’m good at plenty.”
“Tell me one?”
“Ruffling your feathers.” At my words, her eyes narrow. “And you? What are you good at, Ms. Asher?”
“Shooting. I have a very precise shot.”
“Always with the threats.” I tsk, shaking my head. “After all I’ve done for you.”
“Done for me?” There’s a curse that slips through thin lips and a twitch in her hand, but I don’t back down. I’m getting to know her through each interaction. With the gestures that come naturally and not the composed heat at work. “Please enlighten me here. What exactly have you done again?”
“Saved you from a boring existence.” A flush of red sweeps across her cheeks and her breathing accelerates, chest rising rapidly. It’s a beautiful sight.
This woman in a simple pair of shorts and top, with her nipples hard and the barbells through them rubbing against the cotton, fuming at me while trying to dispel her truth. “Now, it’s my turn to ask the second question.”
“Hit me.” Yeah, I’m under her skin, and she hates to crave it.
“What’s your guilty pleasure?”
“Life hack videos that make no sense.” Mariah takes another bite from her salad and then tilts her head to the side. “Weirdest food you’ve eaten?”
“I’d say fugu on a trip to Japan.”
“You ate a poisonous fish?”
“Yes.” At my blasé response, her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Cute. “It was quite the experience.”
“How so?”
“My cousin, Emiliano, ate too much and couldn’t feel his tongue and lips all night. Let’s just say he drooled on himself more than once.”
“Oh my God!” Snickers erupt from her, shoulders shaking while a small palm meets the countertop. “That’s priceless.”
