Page 8 of Sinful Skulls
“That’s really hard to believe, because a girl who is as pretty as youandlikes pizza …” He puts his thumb and fingers together, bringing them to his mouth then pulling them away in a chef’s kiss.
“Oh, if that gets you going, there’s an ice cream parlor across the street.”
He places his hand on his chest. “Stop. You’re killing me. You like ice cream too?”
“I’m a sucker for a hot extra-fudgy sundae. What’s your favorite?”
He chuckles. “When it comes to food, I don’t play favorites,” he jokes, taking my hand in his as we cross the street.
His fingers are warm, and his grip steady. It’s comforting. I feel safe with him. Which is strange, because I’ve just met this man.
We decide to eat outside, which seems to make him happy.
“Do you like to be outdoors?” I ask, covering my mouth.
“Absolutely. From your tan, I would guess you spend a lot of time at the beach.”
“I do, but I’m not really a beach girl. I’m not a fan of getting in the ocean. It freaks me out.”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I hear you there. Fuck, this place is the bomb.”
“Right?”
Our conversation continues effortlessly. After supper, we jog across the street for dessert.
“Let me get this. You paid for the pizza.” I try to shove him out of the way at the register, but he doesn’t budge.
“Fuck no. That’s not how I roll, sweetheart.”
My stomach does weird fluttery things. Normally I’d be gagging at such a sickening sweet endearment. But for some reason, coming from Brody, it makes me giddy.
We casually walk back, eating our ice cream. He guides us to a picnic table in the small grassy area that overlooks the beach. He helps me to sit on top of it, facing the water.
“So, what are we going to do tomorrow?”
I laugh, but I do want to see him again. Tonight was fun. Easy. “Well, since you like food, we could drive up the coast to this restaurant that has the best fish in all of California.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. We can take my bike.”
There’s that weird fluttery thing again. I hope I’m not getting a stomach bug. “I’ve never been on a bike,” I tell him honestly.
He holds my gaze. “You ready to experience something different?”
Um, yes please … that’s why I’m going to Paris.
“Sure.” I shrug acting like it’s no big deal, but my mind is already fantasizing about being on a motorcycle with him. It sounds dangerous. My parents would shit their pants if they knew what I’ve just agreed to do.
The way this man chuckles has me squeezing my thighs together.
“It’s a date then.”
He takes my empty cup from me, and I watch as he walks over to the trash can to throw it away. He scans the area, turning around several times to make sure I’m okay.
I shiver, remembering how he broke that guy’s nose last night.
Maybe I’m wrong, and it’s not the bike that’s dangerous. It’s the driver.
Chapter Four
