Page 51 of Shiver

I expect him to turn the TV on to fill the silence, but instead, he turns toward me, grabbing the plates and placing one in my lap.

The smell is delicious, and I can’t help but finally dig in.

I hate eating in front of other people.I always feel like they’ll think I’m a slob. I don’t eat dainty meals like I’m sure women like Cecily do.

But Luca chowing down on his own burger makes me feel a little less self-conscious about myself and spurs me on to actually enjoy my meal.

Chapter forty-five

Luca

Ilovea woman who can eat.

Sure, food is fuel, but I’m also a firm believer that it can be fuel for your soul and not just your body. That’s something my mom always ingrained into us as kids, so it’s nice to see a woman who can enjoy her meals instead of eating nothing but a sad bowl of lettuce.

And that’s another thing that gets me. Salads can be fucking delicious if they’ve got the right components. They don’thaveto be sad, but I’ve dated so many women who thought they needed to eat a certain way to be desirable, and it was always a turn-off for me. I realize it isn’t their fault that they hold those beliefs.

They were taught these things from a young age, and the media just reinforced it, which is total shit, butsomeonehas got to break that cycle. This means that this is one of many conversations Cici and I will have to have the older Gia gets. I refuse to let my daughter grow up thinking she’s anything less than beautiful, strong, and capable beyond imagination just because her mother thinks those things about herself. Hell, I hope Cici can move past those beliefs for herself too.

As we sit in comfortable silence, I find myself caught on the question Samara had asked earlier.

It’s hard not to wonder whether or not she wants kids too. Or evenakid. But I know children and fertility can be a difficult subject for some, and the way she tried to backtrack after she asked has me pushing my own questions to the sidelines.

“Alright, Samara, if we’re going to be fake boyfriend and girlfriend, I’ve gotta know all there is to know about you.” It’s the perfect way to find out more about her without having to deal with her inevitable reluctance. She has a lot riding on making this believable, though I don’t think there’ll be any problems on my end. I already find myself wanting to be around her when I know I shouldn’t because she’s not reciprocating those feelings.

She swallows her bite of burger and wipes her mouth before repositioning her body on the couch to face me more easily. “What do you wanna know?”

“Everything,” I tell her without hesitation.

She rolls her eyes at me, but a small smile graces her lips, and warmth spreads in my gut. “I need specific questions, Luca.” She smirks. Those full, plump lips are going to be the death of me someday.

“What kind of hobbies do you enjoy?” I ask, starting off in easy territory.

“I read a lot in any free time I’ve got, and I enjoy sewing and cross-stitching.”

“Where’d you learn to sew?” I ask, genuine curiosity wrapped around my vocal cords, begging me to keep her talking about anything and everything. For some reason, I have a difficult time picturing Samara performing something so seemingly domestic. She carries herself with an energy that I’d always believed translated to a woman who’d rather work and be out of the house than in it.

“My mom is a seamstress. When she first moved to the US, she was a teenager and worked anywhere she was hired. One of those jobs was as a seamstress in a small dry-cleaning shop. When she and my dad met, they bonded over their desire to start their own businesses.”

I nod my understanding, hoping she’ll continue without me having to beg her. I breathe out a small sigh when she starts speaking again. “So eventually, my dad opened up the restaurant he and my sister now run together, and Mom was able to get enough work on her own to open her little shop in their apartment. She taught my sister and me growing up, but Vea was better at cooking, so she took more to that with my dad.” It’s clear in every word she speaks how proud she is of her family.

“Where’s your mom from?” I ask.

“My mom is originally from the Dominican Republic, and my sister was born in Jamaica. My parents had moved there for a while when Mom was pregnant with Vea. They wanted the support from my grandparents since they were first-time parents but moved back here before having me.” The fact that she elaborated without me having to ask feels like a major win, but I guess everything she’s said has just been for the benefit of our now blossoming, fake relationship. At least,I hope it’s blossoming.

“And do you just have the one sister?”

“Yep, but a few of my mom’s siblings moved here after her, so I grew up with a lot of cousins nearby. This can’t be one-sided though. Tell me about your hobbies outside of hockey,” she urges, clearly done with talking about herself for the moment.

“Well, as you’ve seen, I ballroom dance.” I smile when she rolls her eyes at me. I wonder if she’s thinking back to that first dance class before she knew about my family’s history with ballroom dancing. “And I kickbox, and um”—I cough—“bake.”

Her eyes light up. “You bake?” she asks, her mind getting caught on the hobby that’s arguably the least likely to be a panty melter.

I nod, unwilling to give up any more detail than that.

Her mouth hangs open until she snaps it shut. A playful grin spreads across her face as she leans into me, her lips brushing against my ear the same way I’ve done to her time and time again, always aiming to rile her up. And when her breath skitters across my skin, my balls tighten with every word she speaks. “So Luca…”Is it hot in here?I have to resist the urge to wipe at the sheen of sweat now coating my forehead as heat burns through me.

“Yes, princess?” I ask, feeling out of breath with her this close to me. My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips.

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