Page 12 of Sweet
He knew who she was. Everyone knew who she was, but he enjoyed the look of confusion on her face.
“I’m Daisy.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Daisy…?”
“Daisy Rivera. My family has Café Maya on Main— You know all this. You come in there every day!” She looked around, realizing she was practically yelling. “Listen, can I just get your phone number so my cousins will leave me alone? I promise I won’t call you or anything, but it’ll get them off my back.”
“Oh right. The bet.”
“It’s not a bet! They know I think you’re cute, and they’re being obnoxious about it, and you know what?” She reached for a napkin on the nearby table. “Never mind, I’ll make something up. Just forget we ever talked. Please—pleaseforget this conversation ever happened.”
Spider frowned.
They know I think you’re cute.
Cute?
Spider didn’t think anyone had ever called him cute.
Bad. Dangerous. Even hot or sexy sometimes. He’d heard those, and whatever, sexual attraction didn’t follow any rules.
Cute?
He watched as she dug through her purse, clearly looking for a pen that she didn’t have and slowly coming to the realization that she’d have to speak to him again.
Daisy sighed and closed her eyes. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”
“You want to borrow a pen from me to write down a fake phone number to fool your cousins?”
It was as if she was shrinking in front of him, and the feeling filled him with a sudden punch of emotions. Shame and anger. Deep-seated, gut-curling anger.
She shouldn’t shrink. Ever. Of all the things this woman shouldn’t do, it was make herself small. For anyone, and especially not him.
Spider stubbed out his cigarette, reached for the pen he always kept in his back pocket, and then reached for Daisy’s hand. “You like ink?”
She was staring again. “I don’t have any tattoos.”
“This’ll wash off.” He clicked his pen and tucked her warm little hand against his side and braced her forearm with his hand. “Little rubbing alcohol, little baby oil, and it’ll be gone.”
The pen was one of his good ones, and the ink flowed over her skin like oil on glass.
“I don’t have my own phone,” he said. “And I hate cell phones.” He drew the first number with a flourish, then added curls and shading to the number, turning it from a cold digit into a small work of art. “And you really shouldn’t be spending time with me because I’m not for you, princesa. It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
He kept his voice soft as he moved on to the second number, then the third. “But if you ever need help—if some asshole is ever bothering you—even if your car runs out of gas or some shit. Whatever, you know?” He finished the numbers and added a few extra details in the corner along with a small flower as sweet as she smelled. “Call this number and I’ll be there, okay? Leave a message…” He blew on her skin to set the ink, then stepped back, holding her hand out for a long moment before he released her. “Get a message to me, and I’ll find you.”
Daisy’s cheeks were pink, her mouth gaped a little, and it took every ounce of self-control to not grab her, sink his hand into her curls, and seduce the hell out of her. He could tell she was inexperienced with guys, and the temptation to open her eyes was gnawing at him.
Princesa, you have no idea.
“Thanks.” She looked at her arm, then backed away, turned, and went inside.
Spider took his position on the back fence, lit another cigarette, and stared at the door where Daisy had disappeared.
Self-control.
He fucking had it.
Spider skippedthe café for a solid week after talking with Daisy at the Ice House. He knew that seeing his ink on her skin would be a little too tempting, and he was hoping it would be gone or at least pretty faded by the time he walked into the place on Wednesday.
