Page 178 of Vicious Saint
“Great. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold. School starts in thirty minutes.”
I do just that, as fast as I can without choking, and it’s not until my plate is polished clean of food that I realize how hungry I was.
“Would you like some more, dear?” Darla appears again, ready to take my plate.
“No, I’m good, just gonna finish my juice and head out.”
“Have a wonderful first day.”
I smile at her as she walks away.
Vic eyes the entrance to the kitchen, and somehow, even before he says anything, I feel the energy Saint gives off that nobody else does.
I turn to find him in pristine shape as he adjusts his tie, from blazer to pants that accentuates his physique perfectly. There’s not a tousle in his hair, or bedroom in his eyes.
Not even a wrinkle in his damn oxford.
Saint doesn’t just exude sex appeal, he’s the literal definition.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence, and no time left to eat,” Vic says with clear agitation.
Saint comes dangerously close to me, the scent of his cologne tickling my nose as he reaches over to snatch a pancake off a serving plate.
“Manners,” Vic warns.
Saint shoves half the pancake in his mouth, amidst dropping in the seat next to me as he responds, “Sorry, got none.”
I chuckle, feeling my mother’s eyes and her gleam when Saint sticks his food filled tongue out at me.
“The heck, big bro, quit being gross,” Theory chastises, so he flashes her a dirty smile.
“Enough,” Vic drawls. “We get the point, you’re uncivilized.”
“Buongiorno a tutti.” A voice I haven’t heard in days floats hesitantly from the entryway.
“Good morning to you too, Carlo!” Mom stands. “So happy you’re back.”
Saint tenses, and Vic does the same as they pass a sharp, knowing look. I attempt to garner a reaction from either, but no dice. They’re too busy with the mental showdown.
“Hendrix, let’s go,” my mother calls. “Carlo’s waiting to take you to school.”
Saint’s fist hits the table, making me, along with my damn heart, leap from our spots.
“I’ll be driving Hendrix.”
Vic’s gaze turns murderous, so does his son’s.
And Saint doesn’t spare my mother or aunt any mercy when his eyes connect with them.
“The fuck, guys?” I slide my chair back and stand. “What’s with all the hostility?”
Saint blinks away his anger, lips curving into a devious grin as he stands too, pinching my cheek. “April Fools, Jimi Hendrix.”
I push him off, and nerves riddle in everyone’s laugh except his.
Guy’s full on belly bopping.
Until suddenly…he’s not.
