Page 12 of Truce Of The Matter

When I look up from my phone, his soul-penetrating eyes are steadied on me. Something about the intensity in them intrigues and intimidates me at the same damn time. I blink to keep from falling under the spell they seem to cast on me.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, just my friend checking on me.”

“I hope you told her you’re in good hands with me.”

“I did not,” I say, telling a whole ass lie. “She doesn’t need to know where I am.”

“Right because I got you.”

He raises his glass and takes a sip from his drink. I take several sips from mine, downing half the glass. Even though I’m no longer alone, my get-fucked-up plan is still in full effect. The second part of my plan, crashing alone in my bed, is what’s questionable. I have a feeling that fucking him will surely make me forget this day.

“I’m ready for my cigar,” I tell him and he grabs them off the tray.

After removing something from the end of both of them, he hands me one. “The first thing you want to do is smell it; savor the flavor,” he says.

When he lifts the cigar to his nose, I duplicate his action. Surprisingly, it has a very unique but sweet aroma. It’s kind of familiar, so I sniff it again, trying to distinguish the sweetness.

“I can smell something dessert-like in this. It kind of reminds me of caramelized sugar and cream. Is it going to taste like that when I smoke it?”

“You’ll taste sweet notes but the tobacco will be the strongest taste,” he points out and explains everything on the tray then grabs the cutter. After cutting the tip off both cigars, he takes the poker and punctures a hole in them. He lights his first and checks to make sure it’s fully and evenly lit. Then, I hold mine between my lips and he lights it. “Take it out and blow on it lightly. You want the whole end to flare red,” he says and I do. “Perfect. You’re ready now.”

“Am I going to get high?” I ask.

“Nah. Buzzed, a relaxing buzz because you don’t inhale cigars. This is not weed. Draw on it slowly then blow it out. Watch.” Honestly, I watch too damn hard, eyes glued to his lips. I’m still staring when he pulls the cigar from his lips. He nods for me to try but my focus hasn’t left his full, sexy lips. “You changed your mind?” he asks, snapping me away from his mouth.

“No,” I respond quickly, then take my first draw on the cigar. I can definitely taste the tobacco and the sweetness. I like it. So I take another draw then blow out the smoke. In my mind, I look like a sexy pro smoking my cigar but when I accidentally inhale, I cough lightly, and the image fades. “Ooh! I inhaled. I won’t do that again,” I say and we both grin.

After placing my cigar on the ashtray, I finish the rest of my drink. I’m ready for my third one. He draws on his cigar again before sipping more of his first drink. I get ready to motion the bartender over but thankfully, she reads my mind and walks over.

“Another round?” she asks.

“Definitely for me but make this one a double,” I say and her right eyebrow lifts in judgement. Any other night, I might care but I give zero fucks tonight. So I raise my empty glass and repeat, “A double.”

When I place the glass back on the bar counter, she looks at him. “What about you?”

“I’m straight,” he responds with a nod.

The moment she walks off, I pick up my cigar and hit it again, careful not to inhale. He studies me as I do then smiles like a proud teacher when I don’t cough.

“Did you eat at the restaurant tonight?” I ask.

“No. I didn’t stop by.”

“Somebody else cooked for you?” I try to ask casually but I don’t think it lands. Even I can hear the unexpected jealousy in my tone. I might as well have asked what I wanted…Did your woman cook for you instead?

“Yeah,” is all he offers before taking a sip from his cup.

And? Who?I question with my eyes but he doesn’t answer. His elusiveness, although a little sexy, pisses me off. I want answers. My curiosity has been piqued since he started coming into the restaurant. It’s always just him and his pretty little girl, no woman, and clearly no mother. He’s a fine ass man, obviously a great father, and has his shit together. Not only is he an ex-boxer but he’s also a business owner. Rex checks all the boxes.So who the hell cooked his food tonight?

When the judgmental bartender returns with my drink, I take a big gulp, allowing the double shot of Hennessy in my Sidecar to slide down my throat and penetrate my blood, then I vocalize what my eyes tried to.

“Who cooked for you?” I ask and he chuckles a little.

“My mother did. You wanna know what I ate too?” The smug look on his face can’t be missed and neither can my relief followed by a smirk.

“Yes, please,” I respond.

---