“It’s new.”
“What’s new?”
He sprinkled salt on practically everything.
“The bitten apple on my hand you were givin’ a gander to.”
“Too much sodium, my country rock star. You’re going to have high blood pressure.”
“I’m high off life, my blood is already tainted with self-inflicted venom, and the world is full of pressure. Pepper, please.”
She grabbed it as well, and this time, his fingertips brushed against hers.
“You’re either super sarcastic or a sourpuss.” She sucked her teeth, swished her wine about in her glass, and shook her head.
He offered a limp shrug, then started stabbing his tomatoes as if they’d called him a bitch.
As she got ready to crack a joke, her phone buzzed on the coffee table in the adjacent living area. The vibrating device rattled her nerves. She could feel Axel’s eyes on her. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, then got to her feet. Tossing her napkin down on the table, she made her way to her phone and felt clammy all over when she saw the screen.
“Go ahead. Answer it. I don’t mind,” he called out around a mouthful of food.
She looked over her shoulder, seeing the back of him as he continued to eat. Something about the way he spoke made her feel as if he knew she was avoiding taking the call. As if he was aware she had a secret to hide, and he was onto her. I hate this shit. It’s not even in my nature to not be upfront with the men I date, but how can I explain this?! My whole damn night will be ruined if I answer that phone, or don’t play it cool. Her chest hurt as that thumping heart of hers started to work overtime.
“It’s not important. I can call them back later.” She returned to her chair, forcing a smile across her face as she picked up her fork and began to pick at her food. Appetite officially lost. “Do you like your dinner?” she asked. The answer didn’t matter. She desperately needed the conversation to go in another direction.
“It’s good. Did you cook this?” The man raised his brow, sporting an incredulous expression.
She cocked her head to the side, then burst out laughing.
“How insulting. Didn’t I say I was inviting you over for dinner?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you cooked it.”
“So, you think I can’t cook?” She crossed her arms and straightened her back.
He grabbed his glass of wine and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose as if fumes of white vinegar had just crawled into the depths of his nostrils.
“Well?” she pushed.
“I didn’t say you can’t cook, but even Martha Stewart I ’magine orders a pizza every blue moon.”
“And you’d be right. I didn’t cook any of this shit.”
They were both laughing now.
“I knew it.”
“It was a lucky guess. You didn’t know a damn thing, Axel. I wanted the credit all the same.” She smirked.
“So you were going to pretend you’d done this?” He pointed to the fare and took a taste of the wine, making the same bitter face as he swallowed.
“No, but I wasn’t going to volunteer the information, either. If you’d asked, then I was going to tell the truth. I can cook, by the way, but I was short on time today, and wanted you to have something special,” she explained.
“The quality of the food is good, but it’s not seasoned enough. Glad you didn’t cook it ’cause I would’ve wondered, where’s the damn cayenne? The buttery flavor for the lobster? Why is there no salt on the noodles? Things like that.” He worked his tongue in between his teeth in the most incongruous matter, then proceeded to gulp down more of his wine.
“I wish you would stop making that face, Axel.”
“What face?”
“That sour expression you keep making… like you’re drinking battery acid. If you don’t like the wine, don’t drink it. I have other things you can taste.” Shit. That came out wrong.
She chanced a look at the man, and he was sitting there with a smile so greasy, it rivaled the face of a cat perched by a mouse hole.
“Well… what flavorsome liquid delicacies did you have in mind for me to taste, English?” He winked at her like some dirty old man in the club. And she liked it.
“I happen to think that—” She paused. Her phone buzzed again.
Axel set his empty wine glass down, folded his big hands with the long fingers she’d envisioned sliding against her thighs, and glared at her. Her blood ran cold. The man practically stared right through her, seeing her broken insides like shattered pieces of stained glass in a burning cathedral. Broken mirrors in a house of horrors.
“Who keeps calling you?”
It was obvious he didn’t give a shit that it wasn’t his place to ask. He wasn’t her man. She wasn’t his woman. His brows rutted, lines formed along his forehead, and the corners of his lips drooped.