Page 14 of The War Revision
“American Marriage Ministries invested me with the high title of wedding officiant three days ago. The printed certificate is at the frame shop. I’m ready to marry the shit out of you two, bro,” I try to reassure him. I know he’s stressed out and wants everything to be perfect. I’ll do what I can to help. “Can” being the key word here.
“Okay, thank you. And did you get a suit for the wedding?”
I hate suits. A jacket, shirt, and dark jeans will have to do. “Stop worrying about me and focus on the rest,” I mutter.
My brother keeps yammering on about me taking things more seriously, while I continue walking. I get distracted by the sight of Cole sitting at a restaurant’s outdoor table.
He’s wearing a grey suit vest on top of a light pink shirt. His broad shoulders are deliciously pulling on the fabric. His long, elegant fingers close around the glass and he lifts it to his lips, gulping a generous amount of water. In my dirty mind, his mouth is being filled with something much bigger while working that sexy throat around it.
Damn, our encounter must have torn down the walls I’ve built around my attraction to him. I could barely keep those thoughts hidden before, but after what happened, it’s not possible anymore. It’s like a flood of filthy images is streaming nonstop inside my head where Cole is the sole protagonist.
Jordie groans, and I suddenly realize he’s been very quiet while I’m having my mental erotic show, standing like a damn tree on the sidewalk staring at Cole. Thank fuck he seems taken by his phone.
Another grunt, a much deeper one. Is that Ash? “I have to go,” Jordie moans. Is my brother doing the dirty while I’m on the phone? How dare he? I’m the family voyeur!
“Jordzilla, wait!” I hurriedly tell him.
“What?” He sounds breathy.
“One last thing.” And I hang up on him, enjoying the petty action too much.
I don’t really need to listen to my brother being dicked down by his fiancé. I have better things to do. Or should I say a person to do. But how to proceed? What do I want to try with him? The fact that both Cole and I are tops creates a problem. Or does it?
I stop in front of his table and drop myself in the chair opposite him. My ass reminds me why I shouldn’t have done that, and I flinch. Cole’s scowl turns into a knowing smirk. And I want to slap him and hump him at the same time. Maybe I can. Always been good at multitasking.
“Don’t remember inviting you,” he tells me. He looks so composed with his perfect table manners.
He leans slightly back in his chair, his back is straight, his forearms resting on the table. The white napkin lies neatly on his lap. Does he ever relax? At his housewarming party he was slightly at ease. But not enough. I feel a strong urge to turn him all messy and satisfied.
I chuckle and settle into a much less elegant sprawl. “You didn’t, and I wouldn’t have accepted it because I don’t go on dates,” I boldly reply.
“Us? Dating?” He laughs, like a loud full laugh.
Okay, I don’t know why I said that, because the idea of us dating is utterly preposterous. But I feel irritated by his incredulous comeback. I could date Satan if I wanted. And I’d rock his hellish world.
When he finally sobers, I still feel annoyed by his over-the-top reaction.
“So what’s this, darling? A floor-tenant meeting?”
A cute waitress stops near the table. And instead of giving Cole a vitriol reply, I decide to improve my mood. “Hello, gorgeous. If I knew you were working here I’d have come to eat sooner.”
She blushes even more when I smile at her. And my mood improves when I catch a glance of Cole’s fisted hands on the table. He hates cheap pickup lines, while I love the cute scowling line forming between his eyebrows.Cutescowling?
“What are today’s specials, beautiful?” I’ve been to a Greek restaurant maybe once in my life. I don’t know this particular cuisine well.
The waitress looks flustered, but starts listing dishes with really weird names. I try to hide my ignorance, but Cole must see the confusion on my face because he starts explaining to me each one of them, with no judgment in his dry tone. His attentiveness throws me a bit.
I try to distract myself looking at the menu. What will Lucifer get? What would he like to put in his fuckable mouth? Aside from my dick, of course. He acts like he doesn’t want it, but I can be persuasive. He orders a pastitsio, which is a Greek lasagna, and some vegetables on the side, while I go for a gyro and a Greek salad.
The waitress hurriedly comes back with a glass, silverware, and a flirtatious smile on her face. She goes for the bottle of water, but Cole grabs it instead.
“We don’t need anything else, thank you,” he tells her, using a cold but polite tone.
She leaves while he pours water in my glass.
“Is something bothering you?” I toss a green olive in my mouth.
“Other than you inviting yourself to my table?” He raises a brow at me.
