Page 98 of The True Garza
I pick up the envelope and slide out its contents, taking time to peruse. The date of his checkup is the same as mine. He either went before me, after me, or was there the whole time.
Also, like me, he’s clean on all fronts. “You’re a Taurus?”
His response comes fromright beside me, making me jump, “I don’t believe in that horoscope shit.”
Even at his size, he can move without a sound and scare the bejesus out of me. Commandos are commandos for a reason.
He’s leaned against the island, arms crossed, his attention fixed on me. “Feel better now?”
A thought occurs. “You fully intended on going bareback with me, didn’t you? That’s why you tricked me into getting a checkup.”
“Ever since our first night at that cabin, I’ve wanted to know how you feel bare.” He moves, and in the next second, he has me caged against the counter. “Your mouth is fucking offensive. I should drop you to your knees and fuck it until your eyes water.”
Why is he always teasing me with a good time?
“But instead….” He crushes his mouth to mine. His tongue plunges inside, bossing mine around. He’s such a confident and demanding kisser. Lips hard, yet soft. Flow aggressive, yet smooth. Combine that with his solid, hard build, plus his incinerating body heat, and he’s like a safe, protective corner I never want to leave.
“You’re staying the night,” he declares against my lips.
Yes, please. “As long as you feed me. I’m starving.”
“Of course. I’ll order you something.”
I peer around his shoulder to where the lunch bag from earlier sits on the back counter. “What about your ‘mother’s love’ Sunday dinner?”
He blinks at me. “Uh, no. I don’t share that….”
“You’re joking, right?”
“It’s oxtail and red rice. Cooked by Monica Garza. Perfectly fried plantains on the side. Potato salad that’s like heaven. Yeah… I’m not sharing.”
Now Idefinitelyneed to taste that food. “Well, if I can’t have some ofthatfood, then I’m not staying.”
“Eh,”—he shrugs—“you gotta do what you gotta do.”
Oh my god. I can’t help laughing. “You’reserious?”
“Hang on.” He holds up a finger. “There might be a solution.” He gets out his phone and dials someone. “Hey, gorgeous. … What do you mean? I use this voice with you all the time. Anyway, have you eaten your dinner yet? … No, London is here and— … Yes, yes, I know. She’s hungry and wants some of Mom’s Sunday dinner. Can you share some of yours? … No, but— … ’Cause it’s the perfect portion for today and tomorrow, and you know it tastes even better on Mondays. … No, no don’t hang up—hello? Lexi?”
Unbelievably, he backs up from me, and when his back hits the fridge and there’s nowhere else to go, he slides down until he’s on the floor, long legs splayed out. “Lexi won’t share.” He groans miserably and topples to the side. “This physically hurts.”
A toddler throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t want to share, that’s what I’m looking at right now.
“You’re ridiculous.” I kick his foot. “If it pains youthatmuch, then it’s fine, you don’t have to share.”
As I’m walking away, he clutches my leg. “But you’ll stay, right?”
Sucks that my phone isn’t nearby to snap a picture of him in this moment, to remind him later on how ridiculously he behaved when the woman he just screwed ask him to share his meal.
“If you’rethisover sharing as a grown-ass man, I can’t imagine what you were like as a toddler.”
He reinforces his hold on my leg. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving. Jesus, let go. I’m just gonna get my phone to order something.”
At that, he bounds up like a fucking spring cat. “Here, use mine. Order anything you want.Anything. I’ll pay.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
