Page 28 of Wanted
“How long were you with him?” he asked, putting egg on his piece of toast before taking a bite of both.
The mention of Ethen startled her again, but not in a good way. She didn’t want to think about Ethen right now. “Four years,” she said, swallowing a twinge of guilt for thinking that along with her first sip of hot coffee.
“You like it black?” He gestured to her coffee. “I’ve got cream and sugar if you prefer.”
Another flush of heat hit her, warming her belly in a way that had nothing to do with the coffee wending its way through her. “I’d like that, yes, please.”
Ethen liked his coffee black, so all the Menagerie girls had their coffee black. Even after he’d gone to prison, she’d continued to drink it that way, even though she much preferred the bitterness softened and sweetened.
“Good girl,” he said as he got up.
She startled. “For what?”
“For stating a preference.”
“Wh-what do I get for getting up and getting it myself?” she offered, because watching him do it for her was killing her.
He brought the wooden spoon back to the table with him, along with both the sugar and the cream. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The threat was there in the way he placed it between their plates.
“Okay,” he said, picking up his fork again. “Now you ask me something.”
Startled all over again, she snatched her gaze off the spoon. “What do you want me to ask?”
“Dealer’s choice. It’s called conversation and it’s something most people enjoy while they’re eating. Especially if they’re sharing company.”
Her mind went completely blank for all of two seconds, before a slew of completely terrifying questions popped into it. She didn’t dare give voice to any of them. What if they were too personal? What if she was asking the wrong things? She tried to find something that didn’t have anything to do with whether or not he’d wanted to have sex with her downstairs. Something safe.
“I’m not asking you to bring me the moon,” he drawled. “I’m asking you to get to know me.”
“What if I ask the wrong thing?”
“No such thing.” He took another bite of egg, and chewed it all while giving her a knowing look. “Also, that didn’t qualify as a question. Ask me another.”
She flushed and cast about the table as if some saving hail Mary question might pop up there for her to borrow from. “Um... W-why did you come to the hospital?”
“For you,” he said evenly. “Spencer called me up, said there was someone who needed help. That was before you got shot, by the way. A good week before. Did you know that?”
“Spencer doesn’t like me,” she said, not at all sure why he would have called anyone much less Marcus on her account.
“He liked you well enough to call in a favor. Your turn.” Finishing off his first piece of toast, Marcus brushed his fingers over his plate and then pointed to hers. “Also, conversation doesn’t mean you get to stop eating.”
“My turn?”
“Yeah, we’re doing this in turns. You asked me why I came for you, I answered. Then I asked you did you know. You answered, it’s your turn again.”
“I asked you my turn and you answered that,” she pointed out, her stomach tightening as she waited to see if she’d just irritated him.
He stopped mid chew, then looked at her. A very reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “Clever. You got me.”
He wasn’t mad. His slow chuckle made her want to smile too, but this was all so new and she didn’t know if a backhanded slap might still be coming.
Picking up another piece of toast, he scooped egg onto it as he thought. “If I’d made blueberry pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse, would you eat it with syrup or whipped cream and sprinkles?”
“What?” Taken aback, now she laughed.
“You need to answer me first, or I’m not accepting your question.” He was still smiling, though, and the unexpected silliness of what he’d asked threw her.
“I, um…” She didn’t know how to answer. How ever he served it, that’s how she’d have eaten it. She tried to gauge if he was a whipped cream and sprinkles kind of guy. To be honest, he didn’t look like a Mickey Mouse pancake person, either. “Syrup… I guess?”
