He eyes the chocolate and nods, opening his mouth. I lift my arm up high just to reach his mouth with my hand, placing the treat at his lips. He leans forward and take a big chunk out of it.
“That wasn’t a bite,” I protest. “That was half!”
“Look at the size of me compared to you. Since I’m almost double you, it’s only fair that I get more. Do the math, Shay.”
I quickly shove the rest of the chocolate in my mouth before he makes a play for that too.
“Sexy,” he comments, smirking as I struggle to chew with my mouth so full.
I simply shrug and throw away the wrapper, then say, “I’m going to start cooking. Are we doing anything tomorrow?”
“What do you want to do?” he asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his back still against the counter.
“Do you think we could go for a run? Along the beach or something?” I ask, thinking how amazing that would be. “Maybe get some ice cream afterward?”
He studies me, considering. I flash him a hopeful smile and point to the ingredients for the lasagna and chicken I was about to make him, just to remind him how nice I am.
“All right.” He gives in, looking amused at my tactics, his lips twitching upward a few times. “Not like we have anything else to do.” He pauses. “Besides keep you alive. Are you sure these guys are still looking for you? Either they’re shit at tracking people, or they don’t care anymore.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “My father hasn’t contacted me about anything in weeks. Talon might know what’s going on. He’s usually the one who makes sure I’m safe, and sometimes he goes and visits my father in prison.”
“I’ll give him a call,” Vinnie says, not sounding too happy at the notion.
“You don’t like Talon?” I ask, wondering what his deal with my cousin is.
“It’s complicated” is all he says, quickly changing the subject. “How long until the food is ready?”
“You realize it’s not even dinner time yet, right?” I point out. “It’s only like three o’clock.”
He points to the meat on the table. “Yet you’re laying the ingredients out and making me excited. I’m fine with an early dinner. Just make enough for seconds when we get hungry again later on.”
“Demanding much?”
“Hey, I took you to see puppies, remember?” He grins cheekily, making my expression soften. “I’m going to do a perimeter check.”
“All right,” I say, puffing out a sigh. He playfully tugs on my hair as he passes me and I watch him exit the kitchen. Just yesterday I made a big deal about my being in the kitchen cooking just because I was a woman, and here I am, the very next day, cooking him a meal. I grumble to myself as I start to prepare everything, then decide to play some music while I cook. I put on my favorite playlist, then get to work on the lasagna.
Vinnie better love it.
* * *
“Do you dance like that in public?” Vinnie asks, making me almost drop the pan in my hands. I turn around and look at him, confused by the odd expression on his face. I’d just finished the meal and was doing the dishes, and I’m sure his timing wasn’t coincidental.
“What?”
He gestures to my body. “I’ve been standing here for a few minutes watching you dance. Is this how you dance when you’re in public?”
“Yeaaah,” I reply, dragging the word out. “What’s wrong with how I dance?”
“Nothing,” he says, picking up on my tone. “It’s just pretty . . .”
“Pretty what?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. He’s about to insult me, I know it. What the hell was wrong with my dancing? I thought I was a pretty good dancer, as a matter of fact. I danced growing up and all through high school, and I had good rhythm. In fact, people often commented how great I was at dancing when I used to go clubbing.
“Your moves are even sexier than the women I’ve seen at Toxic,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and clearing this throat. “They’re fuckin’ sexy moves. If you were mine there’s no way in hell I’d want you to dance like that in public, because every man would be staring.”
I wipe my wet hands on the tea towel and close the space between us. “Did you just say that I dance like a stripper?”
He puts his hands up. “Not exactly—”
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, tapping my finger on my cheek. “Sluttier than a stripper.”
I try to keep my face straight so he thinks I’m serious, even though I’m just playing around with him. I know I’m a decent dancer, but I also know that I do like to dance sensually.
“That’s not what I said,” he growls, lowering his hands. “They’re just sexy moves. All that winding and grinding and shit—you know what I mean.”
“Clearly I don’t,” I say in a dry tone, hiding my amusement. “I just spent more than an hour cooking for you, and you walk in and tell me I dance like a stripper and shouldn’t dance in public. Am I missing anything?”
“You’re overreacting,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No,” I say, grabbing the plate with his crumbed chicken. “This would be overreacting.” I open the trash can and pretend that I’m about to dump the food when Vinnie grabs the plate from me and holds it aloft.