“Swear to me.”
With swift movements he pulled something metallic from his pocket and made a quick slice across one of his fingers, then grabbed my hand, the one not holding chocolate and pricked my pinky. My breath caught when he pressed his bloodied finger against mine. His grip tightened as he pulled me against him. “I promise. I won’t run.”
“Blood oath, huh?” I whispered. “Aren’t those serious? Like deathly serious in the mafia?”
“This means…” His eyes searched mine. “…that if I run a second time, you have permission to kill me or send someone to do it for you.”
“Maybe that’s what you want,” I countered. “You know, part of your plan.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” His breath fanned my face as he leaned forward, his lips grazing my ear. “You’re stuck with me. Till death do we part. And it won’t be because I’m stupid enough to turn my back on you a third time.”
I exhaled in relief, but he didn’t release my hand.
Instead he took a step back, lifted my finger to his lips and sucked the blood from the tip, his eyes locked on mine.
Paralyzed, I dumbly watched him — and most definitely felt him as his tongue swirled across my wound, his lips closing over a part of my body I’d never given a second thought to — until now.
When he was done, I was breathing so heavy that it was embarrassing.
“You completely and utterly undo me,” he admitted. “It’s not a comforting feeling, knowing I have spent this much time with you without ever even finding out your favorite color, and one look from you sends me into a fit of rage, lust, anger, passion — it’s unsettling and even more horrible admitting it out loud — admitting the truth, that when I touch you — I will always want more.”
He sighed and linked our hands tightly together.
“So.” He grabbed two more bags of chocolate chips. “What are we baking?”
I finally found my voice as I shook my head out of a stupor. “Well, I’m baking cookies. You’re just the driver.”
“Ouch, not even sharing with the help.”
“I may give you a crumb.”
“Tease.”
I smiled, unable to help it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that.”
“Probably because guys never got close enough to you to say it.” His shoulders straightened. “What else do we need?”
“You aren’t going to let go of my hand are you?”
“Nope.”
“And you’re going to keep pestering me until I feed you?”
“I’m a guy. Next to sex, food will always be a close second.”
We rounded a corner. “So if I just give you sex, I can eat all the cookies?”
Sergio stumbled into a lady passing us with her shopping cart and cursed while she scurried out of harm’s way. “Don’t tempt me. I know exactly what I’d rather eat and it isn’t a damn chocolate chip.”
His grip tightened and didn’t loosen until we were back in the parking lot.
A lover, that kills himself, most gallant, for love. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Sergio
I LET HER drive.
She was horrible.
As in, one of the worst drivers I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting; even worse than Bee, and that was saying something. She’d already taken out three mailboxes since being married to Phoenix, may they rest in peace.
It takes some scary shit to scare that man.
Every time she asked to drive, he would go horribly pale, like it might be the last question he answered.
“So.” The car jolted to a stop as Val put it in park. “Thanks for letting me drive!”
Poor car.
“Yeah,” I managed to croak out as I opened my door and touched the ground with both feet. Solid ground. Thank God. “Anytime.”
Val burst out laughing. “You’re such a liar!”
“Hmm?” I turned to face her, my face carefully void of emotion. “What do you mean?” I casually leaned my arms across the top of the car and folded my hands.
“I’m the worst driver ever.”
I fought to keep my laughter in. “What makes you say that?”
“You made the sign of the cross over your chest, and had you had rosary beads, you would have been clutching them and mumbling prayers.”
“No,” I lied more. “No, it wasn’t that bad.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So you don’t mind getting back in.”
“Cookies,” I blurted. “We have butter in the back seat and we don’t want it to melt.”
“Huh, butter does that? In a temperature controlled environment.”
“Yup.” I nodded and moved my hands to show her. “All over the seat, impossible to get out, like bacon grease, so…”
“I think I’ve finally found someone who’s a worse liar than I am.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being a bad liar. Oddly it feels offensive.”