Page 6 of Until August

“Guess I’m just more persuasive than you.” I flashed her a smile.

“A con man, more like it,” she muttered.

I watched, amused, as she snapped her wooden chopsticks apart with too much force like they’d done her wrong. “I’ve been trying to figure out their secret wing sauce for years, but something is always missing.” She lowered her voice like we were exchanging classified information. “Do you know the secret recipe?”

I studied her more closely before answering. Her nails were short, without much white showing, with a blue Band-Aid wrapped around her left index finger. She was sporting a few burns on her arm below her cuffed shirt, and I was ninety-nine percent certain she was a chef.

“Maybe.” They never gave me the recipe, but I was pretty sure I could recreate it. I looked toward the kitchen and then leaned in close. “How much is it worth to you?” I was messing with her, but she either didn’t notice or was playing along.

“What is it?” she prodded, her eyes lighting up with excitement like she was on the brink of discovering the Holy Grail.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

She leaned back in her seat and arched her brows. “So that’s why your body count is so high.”

I chuckled as Kristen came out from the back and smiled at the woman. Then she shooed me away. “Sit with Nicola and let me feed you.”

Nicolaglared at me as I rounded the counter. “I don’t want company.”

Just for that, I sat in the chair right next to hers and moved it as close as possible until our thighs almost touched.

David joined Kristen behind the counter. “I have something special for you,” he told Nicola, treating her like an honored guest.

She thanked him and then chatted with Kristen while studiously ignoring me. David came out with two steaming bowls of pho and set them in front of us, then went back into the kitchen and returned with more plates of food for us to share.

We were the only two sitting at the counter now. Kristen locked the front door and gave me a sly wink before she disappeared into the kitchen with David, leaving me alone with Nicola. Just as if she’d planned this whole thing and we were on a blind date.

Except my date was married, and she was shooting dagger eyes at me.

Before she dove into her food, she pointed her chopsticks at me, eyes narrowed, her voice laced with accusation. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” I dug into my food without further explanation at the same time she did.

I stifled a groan when her little moans and gasps filled the silence. They were the kind of sounds a woman made when she was having an orgasm. But I wasn’t the one giving it to her.

The credit went to the wings, the meat juicy and succulent, the spices coating my tongue as the heat kicked in.

I grabbed the cold Tiger beer that had magically appeared in front of me and caught Nicola’s sidelong glance as I took a long pull.

I couldn’t tell if she wanted to punch me or kiss me.

CHAPTERTHREE

Nicola

The steamingbowls of pho David and Kristen served at their tiny, perfect Vietnamese restaurant were my comfort food. And today, of all days, it was exactly what I needed.

The last thing I’d needed on this Monday, my only day off, was to sit next to a guy who had somehow weaseled his way into the Nguyens’ good graces.

It made no sense. They guarded their kitchen and secret sauces like they were defending Fort Knox.

He looked vaguely familiar, but if we’d met, I would have remembered. He wasn’t the kind of man you could easily forget.

I watched his throat bob on a swallow as he drank his beer, his big hand wrapped around the cold bottle dripping with condensation. The ends of his dark brown hair curled where they met the collar of his black t-shirt, and his head was covered with a black bandana.

He was big, well over six feet. Big hands that look like they’d punched a few faces in their time. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist, the cotton of his t-shirt stretched over his muscular frame.

My gaze dipped to the heavily inked tattoos on his left arm. A koi fish, a Japanese dragon that disappeared under the arm of his t-shirt, and a chef’s knife on his forearm with words in script on the blade—Find what you love and let it kill you.