Page 32

The old woman returns, setting a plate of fries in front of each of us. They’re golden and crispy with little cups of ketchup in the middle. The smell of salt and oil is orgasmic. I didn’t realize how hungry I actually am. I don’t know when the last time I remembered to eat was. She sets a bottle of something brown and unlabeled in front of us with two chipped crystal glasses, and hurries away.

“Fries?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way to the bimbo’s hearts?”

“Is everything out of your mouth a fucking defense mechanism or are you going to eat?” The corner of his mouth tilts back up into that sexy smirk because the fucker knows he stunned me. I don’t respond, instead choosing to dip some fries in the ketchup and shove them in my mouth.

“If you must know, I usually don’t have to work this hard. I never have to feed them,” he continues.

“Sounds like you aren’t doing it right,” I say dryly. He chuckles.

The fries are fucking divine, like they’re imported straight from Elysium. He reaches over and fills my glass to the brim with the brown liquid. I shovel fries into my mouth like it’s my last meal.

“The expectations are certainly lower,” he admits.

I choke on my mouthful of crisp potatoes, holding the back of my hand to my lips while I swallow. I reach for the drink, then eye it warily. I am the most sought-after criminal in the Underworld, after all. My throat begs for liquid mercy, so I give in anyways.

I take a sip. “Is it poison?”

The drink is flavorful with hints of corn and malted barley. It’s the best bourbon I’ve ever had. I must be on drugs because everything tastes out of this world. In response, he grabs the bottle and takes a swig straight from the mouth. “I guess we’ll die together.”

I finish the last fry on my plate. “Quite a commitment for someone you’ve met twice.”

“You don’t find the notion of spending eternity with a stranger intriguing?”

I take another sip, and it sears down my throat. “Sounds bothersome.”

“I quite like bothering you.” His words are as smooth as this bourbon. I search for some sort of witty demeaning response, but I can’t find one with him staring at me. “Tell me something. Do you normally inhale your food in a disturbing manner?” He pops a few fries in his mouth. His plate is only half empty, while mine is all but licked clean.

“You’re certainly fascinated by your own wit. Does this usually work on women?”

“Is it working on you?”

Yes. Yes, it is. I’ve got to get out of here.

“I gave you my name. Deal is done. It was great catching up.” I start to scoot across the booth.

“Where are you going?” The look on his face is full of alarm, dismantling his charming charade.

“Home. Isn’t that what people do when they finish eating?”

“It is,” he draws out the words. “Are you not having a good time?”

I consider what he says. Admittedly, I am. I can hear Clo in the back of my mind telling me to stop letting people hold me back. Somehow, Kate’s fear still has some sort of grip on me. I need to stop letting dead people tell me what to do.

I’m comfortable with him in this booth in this low-lit shit hole. My mind hasn’t once thought of the impending doom that could come for me, or what happened that night after we first met. The only thing that waits for me at home is hours of rehashing Stafford’s question. Is there anything you aren’t telling me? This is significantly better.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to stay and bruise your ego a little more.” I settle back into the booth.

“Since we’re both clearly out of the practice of conversing, let’s play a drinking game,” he suggests. He puts a splash of bourbon in each glass.

I lean forward. “What kind?”

His eyes dart down to my cleavage, and I realize the way I’m sitting squeezes my breasts together, and they’re struggling against the mesh.

“I would choose twenty questions, but you’ll just drink for every single one of them. What about Truth or Drink?”

“What are the rules?”

“Simple. I’ll make a statement about you. If it’s true, you drink. If it’s not, I drink. Then you do the same for me,” he explains.