Page 29 of Riot

“Anything you don’t eat?” I ask. I should have inquired before. I know from her interviews that she likes spicy food, but she doesn’t like overly sweet food.

“Nope, no allergies,” she responds almost automatically, still glancing around. “Um, would you like me to pick?—”

“Nope, stay here,” I respond and then bounce off to grab my girl her food.

She is my girl after all. She just doesn’t know it yet.

FALLON

Kage is . . . something else.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

I thought he just wanted me for the story, for the thrill, but he’s still here. He bought a hotel and fired someone who offended me. He chased off my date. He buys me flowers, remembering how many times he has met me. He dresses to match me without a word. He’s crude, obnoxious, demanding, and definitely unhealthy, but there’s something about him . . .

I watch him bounce around the stalls. He’s comfortable here, in his dark jeans and leather jacket, no designer brand name on display. He’s just as happy in this tiny, backstreet market as he was at an awards show.

I don’t understand him.

Most men I know wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, never mind take me on a date here to impress me. It’s like . . . he’s not trying so hard to impress me, but to leave an impression, like he said, and make sure I enjoy myself, not just to experience this as a way to lead in to fucking me.

He comes back while I’m lost in thought and drops an armful of buzzers on the table. One goes off, then he gets up and runs off, and so it goes. He just gets back when another goes off. He has to snag two more tables and push them against ours as the food piles around us. There is so much, it might as well be a feast. I’m pretty sure he grabbed one of everything, and as I sit, wide-eyed, he smiles, waiting for approval.

Usually, I would be annoyed, but I reach for a random tray of meat with a cheese sauce and take a bite. He leans in, holding his breath, and when I swallow, I nod. “It’s good.”

He grabs a fork and dives in, trying a bit of everything, and I find myself doing the same. There’s some candied fruit I’m not a fan of, but the stew is amazing.

“Here, try this.” He holds out a spoon to me, his hand under it so it doesn’t drop. I take the bite, leaning back as I chew and swallow. The flavor explodes in my mouth. It’s spicy but not too much, and crunchy but soft.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” I admit.

“Right?” He leans over, wiping his thumb over the corner of my lip. “Sauce,” he explains, and with a devilish wink, he licks his thumb clean and continues eating.

No, Kage isn’t what I was expecting. On the outside, he looked dark and dangerous, but he’s a softie on the inside. He carried my bag without a word of complaint, even though it’s bright pink, and he let me talk and shop without urging me on or getting bored. He proudly wears the ring and feeds me more food than I’ve ever seen.

He’s almost . . . cute. If, you know, he wasn’t stalking me everywhere, but why does the thought make me smile?

By the time we are done eating, I can barely move. “I’m stuffed.”

“Nah, that could be us later.” He winks, and I groan at his bad joke. “Which was your favorite?”

I have no doubt he already knows. Kage watches every little thing I do with so much intensity, it should scare me, but it doesn’t. “Why don’t you tell me?” I prop my chin on my hand as I watch him.

Leaning back, he peers at me with his dark eyes. “You would probably say the goat stew, but I think it was the curry.” I roll my eyes, and his grin deepens, flashing some adorable fucking dimples.

“What was mine, sweetheart?” he asks casually, but I hear the trap. He’s trying to figure out if I watch him as much as he watches me.

Should I lie to throw him off so he won’t get the wrong idea?

“How would I know?” I mutter, taking a sip of the fruit juice he got me.

“Guess then,” he murmurs, not letting it go.

“Fine, it was the noodles,” I mutter, but he catches it, and the smug grin he aims my way lets me know that. Standing, I start to stack the empty trays together to dump them when he slaps my hands away.

“Sit, sweetheart, no girl of mine lifts a hand around me.” He clears it all away and brings me a hand wipe. I try to take it, but he kneels and grabs my hands, cleaning each and every finger with careful attention.

“Ready to keep going?” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss on the back of my hand as he stands.

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