Page 49 of Little Broken Pieces

Deciding that's how I’m going to sayfuck youto the voice in my head, I’m going to pig the fuck out. If Kohen doesn’t like it, he can kick fucking rocks.

“Let’s go to 54th Street Draft House.”

“Hell yeah. Burgers and beers. You’re a woman after my own heart.”

He’s suddenly staring at me so intently that it’s making me uncomfortable. Is he mad?

“What?” I say rudely.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

“What? Why?”

“Safety first, babe. If you don’t buckle up, I’m pulling over.”

“Are you serious? No, I hate my seatbelt.”

“Well, that’s just careless. Put it on- I’m serious.”

“No,” I laugh.

I’m shocked when he actually hits the blinker, gets in his right lane, and pulls onto the side of the road.

“Oh my god! Okay, I’ll put it on.” I pull the stupid strap over my body and click the buckle into place, making a big dramatic show of it. “There, happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he says.

“You don’t even know what ecstatic means.”

“I heard that.”

“I meant for you to hear it.”

We make eye contact and I have every intention of giving attitude, but when I see the pride on his face from getting me to put on my seatbelt, I smile. We break out into laughter.

Only Kohen Ventura can make me so fucking giddy and stupid. I just don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

He puts his other blinker on and merges into the lane, continuing our trek to the restaurant. I turn to look out the window and close my eyes, listening to the tires on the pavement. Suddenly, I hear him shift in his seat, so I look at him in the reflection of the window. I see him staring at me, contemplating whatever it is he wants to do. Then he softly rests his hand on my thigh, palm open, eyes back on the road. He quietly releases a breath that he was holding.

I don’t know why, but in that moment, my stomach turns upside down and inside out. The butterflies release into my chest, and my heart feels funny. Even though it isn’t sexual, something about the simple touch feels so much more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced. Something inside of me shifted when I just saw the way he was looking at me and didn’t know I was watching.

This date is a bad idea. I close my eyes again, hoping that I’m just imagining all of this. It’s an illusion in my head just like my mom’s voice. I zone back in on the sounds outside my window, and he raises the volume of the song on the radio, quietly singing along.

Please, God. I don’t want to fall for this man. He will be the end of me, I just know it.

* * *

The car slows down and I open my eyes. Sure enough, 54th Street Draft House is coming up on the right of us. He pulls in and I unbuckle my seatbelt early, earning a side eye from him.

“Calm down, Daddy. I won’t fly out of the windshield while you’re going five miles an hour.”

“Mmm, call me Daddy one more time.”

“Ew no. I mean to each their own, but daddy kink is not my thing, so get that shit out of your head right now.”

“What about Papi then?” He laughs and I want to kiss his stupid face so bad.

The car turns off and he gets out and runs around to open my door like he has the few times I’ve been in his car. That’s something I’ll have to get used to. He grabs my hand, and our fingers intertwine, ripples of energy reverberate through my body at his simple touch. He leads us into the restaurant, opening every door like a perfect gentleman but I know he isn’t. I know what words leave that filthy mouth and how those fingers feel inside me.

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