Page 113 of Eyes Like Angel
“I hadn’t tried cranberry, actually,” I muttered sheepishly, my cheeks reddened at my confession.
“Go on,” he coaxed, lightly giddied like a child.
I took one big bite. The flavored jam inside was tangy and sweet simultaneously, heightened its tingle dancing on my watering taste bud.
My mouth contemplated and I gave a slight indication of my verdict.
“I like it,” I simply said, nodding in approval.
Picking up another doughnut, and chewed once. “This one is blue.”
He nodded, contemplated. “That’s chocolate brownie with blueberry in it.”
Licking my lips, I tested another doughnut. On the farthest corner on the top right, I plucked another doughnut and inserted it in my mouth.
This one tasted like a warm hug. “And what’s this one?”
His smirk drew wider. “Cookies and cream,” he replied, his pitch-black eyes twinkled. “Just the one you like.”
My thin brow quirked. “Cookies and cream is my favorite?”
He chortled. “Yeah, you did. I gave you a piece of Oreo, back when you worked here at this house to do some internal cleaning, where I taught you to dip the Oreo in the milk.”
My belly wrapped and elevated at his words. “Adrian…”
His eyes flickered alight again as I took a tasteful bite. “I knew you’d like it.”
“So,” I munched the cookies and cream flavor, “where are your friends? Are they going to be here, too?”
His tone shifted. “What party?”
“Um, the party,” I clarified, swallowing the sugary content sticking in my taste buds. “Here at your place.”
Adrian staggered briefly at my answer.
He’d shaken his head, he’s close to guffaw. “My friends are out of town, and some decided to stay late at the Rivers Foundations, doing God knows what.”
My head tilted in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Flushed at his random quick burst, his shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know. I…didn’t attend.”
My lips opened, flabbergasted. “Why’s that?”
Sighing, he scooted his drink aside. “Because I have something more important to focus on, something more…palpable I couldn’t pinpoint.”
Was he crying out for help? In despair? Or hopeless luck?
His face was positively glowing at my guesses, but I couldn’t reach for accuracy, to excel his expectations.
“What could be more vital than a large gathering?” I said, crunching my teeth on a doughnut. “Is Marceline not going to be here? How about Aaron? Did they say anything?”
His pitch-black eyes gleamed as his head inclined upwards, his formal blouse.
The air stopped and my heart was thumping, hands clutched on either object, fingernails dug in as I swallowed my worst fears playing over my consciousness. For someone who has been fixated his eyes on me, he sure is committed, staring, unblinking.
This is how often he acted. The way his body tense, his gaze intent and careful, his mind locked onto my thoughts yet occupied elsewhere—unreadable and unimaginable, overwhelmed with scenarios and possibilities of how he’s unpredictable yet predictable. One moment he’s still, the next he’s on the move in a quickened pace.
Like an animal, he’s unreadable and yet one expression gave it all.
