Page 7 of Until August
So, he was obviously a chef. That made more sense.
I recognized the quote, too. Figures he’d like Bukowski.
He set his bottle on the counter and used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of sticky pork belly. “The last piece is yours.” He pointed to the plate. “I saved you the best one.”
He made it sound like he was doing me a huge favor. “What makes this the best?” I asked, securing it with my chopsticks and guiding it closer to my face for further inspection.
“It’s the plumpest and juiciest and has the most fat.”
“Most people would say that’s the worst piece.” I bit into it and almost swooned. I got hits of lemongrass, garlic, and soy, balancing out the sweetness of the caramelized pork. My tastebuds did a happy dance.
“They’re obviously not foodies.” He took another swig of his beer, shifted in his seat, and angled his body toward me, watching me eat the last bite.
I didn’t even know his name, but I was sharing a meal with this stranger, eating off the same small plates in a Vietnamese restaurant only a few miles from Villa Mare, where Cruz was staying.
It felt intimate and wrong like I was cheating on my husband.
“Seriously, who are you, and why are you here?” I waved my chopsticks toward the kitchen and turned my head to face him just as he did.
My browns met his greens, and they locked and held. There was so much intensity in his green gaze that I felt like he was stripping me bare and seeing straight into my soul. I licked my lips to wet them, and his gaze followed the movement.
God, why was it so hot in here? I needed some air. And space.
I should have put some distance between us, but I didn’t.
I stared at his full lips and the stubble on his squared jaw before I averted my head and took a few swigs of beer.
He looked like the kind of guy who would lure you into bed, fuck your brains out, and leave you begging for more.
I took another fortifying sip of beer and set it down.
“If you’re asking what my name is, it’s August,” he said long after I’d asked the question. “If you’re asking who I am, I’m a lot of things. And thanks to you, I can add con man and serial killer to my list of crimes.”
I let out an unladylike snort as his mouth tipped up in a half-smile, half-smirk. It was sexy, like him.
His big, muscular thigh brushed against mine, and a little jolt of electricity shot through me. That small gesture left me feeling so rattled that I couldn’t speak.
I was sitting next to an insanely attractive man, feeling things I shouldn’t. I didn’t want to imagine him doing things to my body with his lips, tongue, and hands because I shouldn’t want that with him or any other man who wasn’t Cruz.
I’d taken my vows seriously. Until death do us part, and not a minute sooner.
I shook my head, snapping out of my daze. There was only one thing to do in this situation. “I have to go.”
My chair scraped against the wood as I stood abruptly and threw some cash on the counter. Without a backward glance, I bolted for the door and fumbled with the locks. He called my name, but I ignored it and yanked the door open, spilling onto the sidewalk.
I sprinted to my car like I was being chased by a pack of wolves and threw myself into the driver’s seat. My heart thrashed against my ribcage, and I could feel my pulse thrumming in my neck.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Besides everything.
Now that I’d made a complete fool of myself, I could only hope that I’d never have to see him again.
I jammed the key in the ignition and hit the gas.
Guilt gnawed at me as I took the scenic route and drove along the coast with my windows down and the sea air blowing through my hair. It felt so wrong that the sun was shining, and the waves kept crashing against the shore.
I resented the ocean.
