Page 34 of Stealing His Cupcake
All my other experience with road trips comes from TV and movies, where the characters usually either find the love of their lives or get chopped up by a serial killer. Sometimes both.
I barely have any real comparison, but I have to say that the road trip with Lucifer is fun. By all accounts, it should be awkward. Even when I set aside the obvious issues like the murder and the kidnapping, there’s still the fact that I literally just met the man yesterday and I know nothing about him. I don’t even know his name and at this point, it feels strange to ask. Then there’s thethingwe did yesterday. He hasn’t brought it up and I’m grateful. I don’t think I’d survive him taunting me, throwing it in my face, how I begged for his cock. God! I still can’t believe I actually did that. What’s wrong with me?
If this was anyone else, I’d worry that he isn’t talking about the sex because he regrets it, but that doesn’t seem to be the issue. His cock definitely shot up when he saw me in the dress, so I think it’s safe to say he’s genuinely attracted to me. Baffling, yet true.
Even now as we sit in the car, he keeps sneaking oh-so-stealthy glances and smiles at me. It’s cute, and it’s making butterflies flutter in my belly, which is probably not the healthiest reaction to your captor showing sexual interest in you, but since I’ve decided to let myself feel, I embrace it. I might not live much longer, so why not enjoy myself?
“You can put on some music if you want.” Lucifer’s rumbly voice interrupts my idle musings. Damn, even his voice is sexy. They should arrest him for looking and sounding so sexy. And for the murders. I keep forgetting about the murders.
It takes me a moment to get the hang of his car’s entertainment system. I’m not very good with technology and the car is loaded with so many gadgets it feels like sitting in a spaceship. I find his saved playlists and since he doesn’t seem to mind my snooping, go through them to see what he likes. One is full of classical music. Very psycho-killer vibe. Another contains artists I’ve never heard of, most of them French. God, he’s probably all posh and sophisticated. Next to him, I’m an uncultured potato. Scrollingdown further, I’m relieved to find various other genres, including death metal, and— “Avril Lavigne?”
Chuckling, Lucifer taps the screen and familiar music fills the car. “What?” he laughs at my incredulous look. “That’s my childhood music. Green Day, Blink-182, Evanescence, Linkin Park… Yeah, I know, I’m old.”
“Can’t be that old,” I murmur, still a little derailed by finding out such a “normal” thing about him.
“Thirty-five, actually,” he responds easily, his attention back on the road. We’re back on the highway, but since it’s Saturday, the traffic isn’t too bad.
“I’m twenty-eight,” I say, unsure how to reply. Should I tell him he looks younger or is that a female-only compliment?
A corner of his mouth quirks. “I know.”
“Oh.” Because he’s been obsessed with me for god knows how long.
“I only know the basic things about you, cupcake, ones a person can find out by hacking into government registries or social media. What I really want to know is what makes you smile. What you’re afraid of and what do you dream about. One day, I hope to gain your trust so you’ll share these secrets with me.”
“Oh,” I repeat like an idiot. I don’t get this man, I really don’t. Why is he so damn obsessed with me? It makes no sense. I’m not pretty nor interesting and, despite my childhood fantasies, there are no secret government plots surrounding me. I’m just me and if I’m being honest, I don’t even like myself very much. Why in the world should someone else like me?
My awkward search for words is cut short when Lucifer pulls into a gas station. He gets out to fill the tank, leaving me alone in the car. Twisting in my seat, I look at the people milling about, most visiting the gas station store. My eyes catch the toilet sign and, of course, it makes my bladder want to go, despite using the bathroom less than fifteen minutes ago. I unbuckle my seat belt, then hesitate with my hand on the door handle. Surely, I’m not allowed to just saunter off on my own, especially with so many people around, am I?
I flinch when Lucifer knocks on my window. “Come on, cupcake. I promised you snacks.”
Right. Snacks. And perhaps while we’re there, I can use the bathroom, too. He can’t possibly expect me to hold it the entire time or crouch somewhere by the road. I might be a captive, but I still have the right to pee in civilized conditions.
Outside of the air-conditioned car, a gust of wind makes me shiver. It’s early summer and the day is warm, but the morning breeze carries a lingering chill. Instead of offering me his jacket, Lucifer heads for the back of the car. I’m not disappointed. Really. I absolutely didn’t want to be wrapped in his warm scent. That would be crazy.
Expecting him to pull out one of my sweaters, I frown when I see an unfamiliar item in his hand. “I almost forgot,” he says as he offers it to me. “This is for you.”
It’s a large, triangular scarf, perfect to wrap around my shoulders. It’s made of soft, fluffy yarn, the color gradually changing from black in the center to dark red around the edges. And…there are cupcakes on it. I don’t notice it at first, too busy admiring the flawless color gradient, but when my fingers come across irregular rows of tiny holes, I take a closer look and realize the holes form a pattern. A tiny cupcake repeated over and over. “It’s beautiful,” I breathe out, my heart swelling. “Thank you.” Throwing it over my shoulders, I savor the soft warmth it provides. “Did you buy this because of the cupcakes?” I still haven’t asked him about that nickname.
Grinning, he offers me his hand and I take it without hesitation. “I didn’t buy it,” he replies cryptically as we head toward the store.
My breath catches. Did he steal it? Oh my god, did he kill someone for it? Is there blood of its previous owner still on it? Am I wearing murder evidence?
“Relax, cupcake.” Lucifer lets go of my hand in favor of wrapping his arm around my waist. “I made it for you.”
“You-youmade it?” Talk about whiplash. I study the scarf more intently. I’m no expert, but it does look like it could be handmade. Knit,or crocheted perhaps, but my mind can’t reconcile the mental image of crocheting Lucifer with the emotionless monster who cut off Turbo’s fingers without blinking. He must be lying to impress me.
“I did,” he confirms. It sounds earnest, but then again, he’s probably a skilled liar. “I couldn’t sleep because you occupied my mind, so I kept myself busy.”
That’s just… I don’t even know how to feel about that. “Um. Sorry?” It’s not like I meant to keep him awake. I didn’t even know he existed!
He smiles. “It wasn’t a complaint, Amy. Just making conversation.” There’s a strange edge to his words. It’s not until he escorts me to the bathroom, waiting right outside the door like a loyal hound, when I realize what it is. Nervousness. He’s actually nervous about making conversation with me, which sets me at ease. Lucifer might be a terrible person to others, but he’s been nothing but nice to me. If he wants to act like I’m his girlfriend and we’ve been dating for god knows how long, I see no reason not to indulge him. Sure, the way we met probably isn’t something we’d tell our children, but—
Damn, why am I thinking about having babies with him? I’m really losing my mind. I laugh at my reflection. The older woman washing her hands next to me looks up with a smile. “Oh, to be young and in love again,” she notes dreamily. “And with such a handsome specimen,” she says, winking. “I saw you together by your car and pardon my language, but if I were a few decades younger, I’d pounce on that hot piece of ass.”
I snort out a laugh. “Well, he’s mine, so hands off,” I warn playfully.
She laughs back. “Noted.” As we exit the bathroom together, the lady gives Lucifer an appreciative once-over, then turns to me. “Mark my words, young lady. Ride that horse while it’s young.”
