Page 31 of Flame
I sit back, too. “It was probably even better than the burgers that Calvin makes for me.”
Bingo.
He takes a long drink, watching me over the brim of his glass. The intensity of his stare sends a chill down my spine.
“I hope you enjoyed Calvin’s burgers because you’ll never have them again,” he says, setting his glass down with a thud.
“I love that you think you have a say in it.”
He lifts one brow. It says more than words ever could, yet at the same time, it says nothing at all.
“Calvin has never made me a burger,” I say, standing. I gather our plates and carry them into the kitchen. “I was just winding you up. But I am curious about something.”
He hums, carrying our glasses to the island.
“Why do you care?” I ask.
The question hangs heavily in the room. It sits on us like a heavy fog as we work silently together to tidy up dinner.
He takes so long to answer that I’m not sure he’ll even dignify the question with a response. When he speaks, it makes me jump.
“Calvin isn’t there to make you dinner.”
That’s it. That’s the response.
I look at Foxx over my shoulder. “You weren’t there to make me dinner either. But it didn’t stop you.”
“But I had the wisdom to step back.”
I drop the plate in the sink and turn to face him head-on. “So that’s why you left? Because you were doing too much for me?”
“Stop it, Bianca.”
“Stop what?”
He runs a hand through his hair, refusing to make eye contact.
My heart pounds as I watch him fight whatever he wants to say. I hate this about him. I hate that he won’t just speak from the heart. He refuses to speak the truth.
“You know, I don’t want to tiptoe around this for the next couple of days,” I say, my chest pinching. “So we can either resolve my questions, or we can fight about it, and I can go to Vegas whether you like it or not.”
His hand falls to his side. “What questions can you possibly have?”
“There’s a list.”
“Fine.” His jaw flexes. “Then you’ll answer mine, as well.”
“I’m an open book, baby.”
He snorts. “Great. I’ll start.”
Instantly, I regret being so cocky.
“Have you been taking care of yourself?” he asks, squaring his shoulders to mine.
He looks down at me with ferociousness wrapped in a tenderness that takes my wits and tosses them to the wind. I don’t know which to grab on to, which side he means more. I also don’t know why in the hell he cares.
“We already discussed this,” I say.
