Page 23 of Sinners' Appetite
What the actual fuck? I think I’m done here.
“I’m fine, really. There’s chicken in the salad already,” I
His eyes darken as he narrows them at me. “You need to eat more.”
My stomach starts to turn as he continues to glare at me. The waitress shoots me a caring glance and asks us what we want to drink with our meals.
“I’ll take a water., I say, hoping Justin will just keep his mouth shut about my choice of beverage.
Of course—he doesn’t.
“We’ll both have a long island iced tea.”
I shake my head. “I’ll have water.”
The waitress stands there for a moment, confused. “Water and a long island iced tea?” she quietly repeats.
Justin groans, motioning for her to walk away. “Are you always this stubborn?” he asks me, narrowing his eyes.
Frustrated, I reach into my bag for my phone. “I’m not trying to be stubborn, Justin. I ordered what I wanted.”
“I was trying to be nice.”
I ignore his comment and unlock my phone, preparing to send an SOS text to Sammi. I don’t recall him ever being this freaking rude.
“I said—I was trying to be nice,” he repeats.
“Is that what it was?” I question.
“I’m sorry… you make me nervous.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense, Justin. You know me already.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I know. I guess—I’ve just wanted to be with you for so long…”
“Maybe this was a bad idea after-all,” I suggest.
We sit in awkward silence as we wait for our food to arrive. Once it does, the waitress looks to me with sympathetic eyes. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” she says.
“Thank you,” I reply, nodding my head to indicate that I’m okay.
“What was that?” Justin asks.
“What?”
“The look she gave you.”
I smirk. “That’s women looking out for each other…”
“I think I should just take you home after we’re done here,” he suggests, in a disappointed tone.
I don’t bother to respond, nodding my head in agreement instead.
Once we finally finish our meals, the waitress brings the check to us and Justin pays it right away as I stand to head toward the door. I make my way over to his car once I’m outside and stand there waiting for him to unlock the door. When he finally comes out, he looks angry.
“Get in,” he demands as he clicks the button on his key fob.
I hop in, avoiding eye contact with him entirely as he starts the engine and begins to pull away from the restaurant. When we get to my street, instead of turning left, he keeps driving.
