Page 71 of Shark Bait

He gives me a once-over, then ruffles my hair. “Sleepyhead.”

I sit at the table and blow into the bowl of soup. “Smells good.”

He flips the chair and sits down, folding his arms over the backrest. I don’t know why men do this, but I’ve always found it sexy.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I pick up a spoon and sip the soup. “Oh, my. Fine as frog hair split four ways.” Shark frowns, so I explain. “The soup is delicious. I mean, I’ve had chicken soup, but this is next level.”

“It’s a matzo ball chicken soup.”

I scoop up the ball he’s talking about and taste it. My eyes roll back. “Their cook is amazing,” I say. “I’m sorry I brought up the pancakes and Alessio tasked me with making them for everyone. I wish the cook would make those too.”

The soup goes down the wrong pipe, so I start coughing and breathing at the same time. But then Shark’s bug-eyed expression has me laughing, and when I feel like I’ll pee, I squeeze my legs together. He’s staring so intently that I snort, then choke again on the chicken soup that’s gotten into my nose.

“What is happening to you?” he asks.

It takes me a hot minute to recover from my choking-laughing fit. I blow my nose and dump the last tissue into the bin before I sit back down to try to finish my meal. “Don’t make me laugh or I’ll pee.”

Shark lifts his hands in surrender.

We stay silent while I eat the rest of the meal, mainly because I’m the one who usually does most of the talking. Shark is content with watching me.

I clean up and sit back on the bed, grabbing the purse he brought in. Inside is a matching white leather wallet, a phone, and a feminine white pouch. First, I open the pouch and find panty liners, moisturizer, and two lip glosses from a famous high-end Italian brand I’ve never bought from before. I hold up the glosses, one in each hand. “Pineapple or strawberry?”

“You don’t have a preference?” he asks. When I shake my head, he decides on the strawberry.

I unscrew the cap and apply the gloss, then taste it. “Yum.” I smack my lips. “Why strawberry?”

“I like it better than pineapple.”

His answer implies he’ll be tasting the gloss off my lips.

Next, I pick up the wallet and feel the leather. “Suede is my favorite. I love me some polished leather, don’t get me wrong, but suede is soft and pretty. I wear suede boots in Tennessee’s hot summers, ya know.” I open the wallet and find a few hundred dollars, a luxurious obsidian credit card, and a small, laminated image of my baby in the womb.

“Aw, who put all this together for me?”

He purses his lips. “Depends. If you like it, it was me. If you don’t, it was Alessio.”

“Always Alessio’s fault, huh?”

“Always.”

“I like it,” I say.

“Valerina gave me the lipsticks.”

“Lip glosses,” I correct him, softly. “What’s the deal with you and Alessio?”

“How do you mean?”

“He’s your boss, but it feels more like a you’re in a boy band where he’s the lead singer and even the most personal decisions, like who you’ll marry, depend on him.”

Shark rubs the back of his neck. “We are in a boy band of a sort. Who I marry matters more than it matters for most peoplesince my profession demands either my wife’s absolute loyalty or complete cluelessness. The latter is not an option for you.”

I chew my lip, tasting the strawberry lip gloss. “Is there room for girls in your boy band?”

“Valerina is in the band.”

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