“Nice place.”
She locked the door and caught him checking everything out.
“Thank you. Come on into the dining room and get comfortable. I’m going to set these in some water.”
“Do I have to take off my shoes or somethin’?”
“No, baby. You’re fine.”
She walked ahead of him and could see him trailing his gaze all over her as they passed a series of wall mirrors. Now, his gaze was keenly fixed on her rear end. She shook her head and suppressed a smile, then pointed to a chair in the dining room.
“Go on and have a seat. I’ll bring the food out.” She collected their serving platters from the table, then started to walk to the kitchen.
“Hold on. Let me help you.”
“No, I’ve got it. Really. I’d prefer you just take a load off.”
The sounds of ‘Lazy Song,’ by Bruno Mars, played as she placed the roses in a vase. She peeked in the dining room as she began to plate the food, seeing Axel sitting at the table, looking down at his phone. Plating everything in a pleasing arrangement, she then brought in their bounty. He looked up from his phone, stared at the plate she sat before him, then returned his attention to his phone as if it were nothing special at all. In fact, the son of a bitch yawned.
Rude ass. He could have said thank you, that it looked good or something. I don’t know why I even care about this. Maybe I want to impress him? Now when have I ever given a damn about things like this? Ewww… I must really like him.
She laughed to herself as she walked off, grabbed their wine glasses from the kitchen, and returned. As she clutched the sides of her chair to take her seat, he casually placed his phone down on the table and rushed over to pull the chair out for her.
“Thank you.”
A romantic jazzy tune serenaded them as he went back to his seat and placed the napkin over his lap. He began to serve himself the lobster macaroni and cheese, forgoing the appetizer that was perfectly displayed on the side of the plate.
I should have had them on separate plates, but then I saw that gorgeous picture in that cookbook for inspiration, and it looked better on one serving platter. Like an extraordinarily ornamental entree. Why in the hell was I even looking at cookbooks? To impress him, of course.
She sipped her wine, legs crossed. Song after song played and Axel was strangely silent, to the point it was getting pretty damned uncomfortable. Although not an extrovert by any stretch of the imagination, he usually knew how to keep a conversation going, and he was easy to talk to.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, unable to take it anymore. Conan Gray’s, ‘Disaster’, started to play.
“Everything is okay, technically, but I’m a little perturbed is all, I ’spose you could say.” He jammed a forkful of lobster in his mouth.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, just bullshit. On my way over here, I got a call for a job. I refused to go in and sent another guy I trust. One I trained myself. Chase. I know he can handle the particulars.”
“Why is that a problem if you trust him?” Her body betrayed her as her nipples hardened beneath her blouse while she watched his lips moving. Real slow like…
“’Cause they wanted me to be there specifically, and the officer who called for the services threw a hissy fit when I said I wasn’t comin’, but he’d be in good hands. He couldn’t understand it, and I found that mighty strange. Usually, when I can’t do a job and send someone else, they’re all just happy I can get someone over to wherever the location is in a timely manner. The hell with who. They just want somebody competent.” She nodded in understanding and chewed on a forkful of salad. “I explained to him that I had important plans and I wasn’t breaking them for nobody but Jesus.” Her cheeks warmed at that. “Sometimes, these police officers can be a real piece of work, English.”
“How so?”
“We help ’em look good. Most of ’em can’t even keep their lunch down when they walk into these places, and then they have the nerve to act like they’re better than the cleanin’ crews. They act like we work for them sometimes. Being demanding and saying things that don’t make a lick of sense or want to try and tell me how to do my job. I don’t work for nobody but me. I’m my own boss, and that’s how it’ll always be. ’Nough of that, though. Can you pass the salt, please, baby?”
She reached to her left, grabbed the salt shaker, and handed it to him. That was when she noticed an apple tattoo along his pinky finger. Odd. I hadn’t noticed it before. That’s not like me. I’m into details.