Page 29 of Wicked Little Game
Ruby turns around with a spatula in her hand, flailing it in front of my chest as if it’s a machete. She’s like a puppy throwing a fit, but she doesn’t need to think that she can threaten me, not even jokingly.
In one swift motion, I grab her wrist and turn her arm on her back. Somehow, it’s always the ones with the big mouths that don’t see it coming.
I shove her down on the kitchen counter, her chest pressed flush against the cold stone while I’m standing behind her. With less distance than I should, I realize as I feel her ass on my crotch.
“Someone should teach you some manners,” I whisper in her ear as I lean down. The dumbfounded expression on her face is priceless, even more so because I can see how she’s biting down on her lower lip. This is probably one of the firsttimes someone showed the little princess a hint of a boundary.
“Did you learn that shit in bodyguard school?” Ruby must have gotten her attitude back, because the next thing I know, she’s grinding her ass against me.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” With a groan, I let go of her arm to adjust my pants, which got too tight again. “Probably graduated from brat school.”
“With honors,” she says with a grin before she takes the lasagna out of the oven. My eyes widen as I see she made not one, but two.
“You’re really bold given the fact that I spenthoursin the kitchen just to cook for you,” she says in a slightly condescending tone, and my cock twitches again. I would tell her I hate her if the lasagna wasn’t looking so damn tempting.
I take the plate she prepared for me out of her hand and rush towards the table. With my other hand, I pull up my balaclava. I don’t want to waste a single second before I get that thing in my mouth. It doesn't matter if it’s scorching hot. The last time I had a proper meal must have been back at the airport.
“Really, with the mask?” Ruby asks as she joins me at the dinner table a few moments later. I shoot her a glare as I keep on eating. “How’s that saying—Hats at the table are disrespectful or something like that? Bet that counts for masks too,” she points out before she begins to eat.
“Don’t tell me anything about dinner etiquette, you’re sitting here like a damn raccoon.”
She has her feet propped up on one of the free chairs, the plate in front of her while her eyes wander from the lasagna over to the TV every few seconds. The very TV that’s still playing her weird dating show, but I don’t even have the nerve to complain anymore.
“Fair point,” she says. “Is the lasagna alright?”
“Best lasagna I’ve ever had,” I yell back toward her while I walk to the kitchen to help myself to another serving. Usually, I wouldn’t praise her like that, but the lasagna really tastes fucking delicious.
A while later, I ate almost two-thirds of the one she made especially for me, and I have to physically restrain myself from eating even more.
If she planned to win me over with her cooking skills, she’s succeeding so far. I have to give her that. I already know that I’ll have to beg her to cook for me more often while I’m stuck here.
Somehow, she even coaxed me into joining her on the couch for dessert and now we’re sitting here, each one of us with a bowl of ice cream in hand while we’re on episode five of her show. Hiding that I’m invested in it got kind of strenuous and if she mocks me, I can always say that she forced me to watch it with her.
She even got me to drop a few comments, and it feels strangely nice to know that we share the same humor.
For tonight, that is.
Just as I begin to relax, she looks at me with an expression on her face that means trouble. I prepare myself to shove her away because after those brief incidents in the kitchen, I have to keep my distance from her, or else I’m doing something stupid.
But she doesn’t come closer. Instead, she jumps up from the couch and bolts up the stairs as if she was struck by lightning. Without the slippers, thank God.
When she comes back, she holds something in her hand and the grin on her face is even bigger. I flip through the possibilities of what she could be holding as she sits back down on the couch.
“Look, I got something for us,” she exclaims proudly.
Two thin silver bracelets rest in the palm of her hand, asmall pendant on each of them. There’s something engraved on the pendants, but since the TV is the only thing illuminating the room, it’s hard to make out details. She grabs one of my hands with her free one, turns it around, and puts one bracelet in my palm.
“No,” I say, shaking my head at her, refusing to look down.
“But you don’t even know what it is?”
“I don’t need to know.”
“The pendant says R, for Ruby,” she says, as if this is the most logical thing in the world.
“And this one’s mine, S, forSamuel.” The grin on her face is diabolical and I swallow thickly upon hearing my name leave her mouth.
The fucking dog tags.I’m the biggest moron on this planet, being so careless around her she now knows my real name. I almost want to lash out at her, but this is a hundred percent my fault.
