Page 43 of When Sinners Fall
“Of course.”
“Vanilla custard?”
She laughs and looks up at me. “Oh my god, you remember that?”
“You pushed it in my face, Wren. Hard to forget.”
“Well, you were being moody. I had to do something to cheer you up.”
Yeah. She always managed that.
~
The rest of the day eases by as a Creole day should. We don’t check the time, nor do either of our phones get looked at. We exist in the moments we have, with me trying to forget about the life I live so I can try enjoying the life she does for a while. We laugh. We talk. We reminisce about years back and some of the things we remember from being kids. And she talks about her life since then. Where she’s been living, what jobs she’s been doing. I’m all about listening to her and learning, trying to keep myself in the present for each next softly drawled word that seeps out of her before this all changes again.
She waves her arms around as she explains about some wedding that fucked up a while back, laughing to herself about it. “It was damn near cataclysmic, Dante,” she says, grabbing at her whisky sour. “You should have seen it. If I didn’t have the contacts and skills I have, that bride would’ve been wearing a robe and sneakers and no makeup. Let’s not even talk about the venue refusing to let the gardenias through because some high-profile film star was coming in the next day and was allergic.”
The waiter puts another couple of drinks down on the table, along with some crawfish, and I let her keep talking while we eat. Feels like a goddamn fairy tale after a while. Like I’m living a dream that isn’t meant for me. I am in reality. This isn’t who I am, no matter how much I like where we are, because this isn’t who we can be once we’re home.
I sigh and lean back, pushing the plate away and licking my fingers clean as people squeeze past us on the busy sidewalk. Been a long damn time since I’ve sat and thought about a woman’s safety in the middle of my life. In fact, it’s only ever really been Mariana I’ve given a damn for. She’s burned so deep into me because of my own flaws that I'll never forget that night. But this, this is a world away from that feeling. It’s selfish on a whole new level of screwed up.
“So,” she says. “Enough about me. What about you?”
I watch as she swirls her hair up into a knot and threads a pin through it, exposing those shoulders of hers. “What about me?”
“What does the grown-up Dante Cortez like doing for fun these days?”
I light a smoke and pick up my whisky as she fans the humidity around with her menu. “He likes fucking you.”
She beams at that and starts giggling, eyes darting around in case anyone’s listening in. Probably are. Couldn’t care less for once. “Well, complimentary as that is, what else?”
“Dancing.” With her. Can’t remember anything fun for a long ass time before that.
“So that wasn’t just a one-off last night?”
“I haven’t danced like that in years.”
“You haven’t? I find that hard to believe. I mean, look at you. The girls must throw themselves at you.” I chuckle at that and finish my drink. They do. At least some. The rest are screaming in pain and pleading for me to let them go. “I don’t even know how you grew into that. You weren’t exactly the best-looking kid on the block back then.”
My brow arches. “Really?” She laughs some more. I stand up and throw my napkin and some money on the table. “I think someone needs a lesson in manners.” My hand grabs hers, dragging her until she’s up on her feet and pulled into my chest. “That ass is getting too goddamn sassy for its own good.”
“My ass is doing just fine.”
I look around her at it, considering just how fine it is. “Your mouth then.”
“And that’s doing just fine, too.” Her arms go around my neck, body rubbing up against me. “I like teasing you. I can’t fawn and flutter over you constantly. Men like you need some bite given back occasionally.” Men like me don’t like any kind of bite. Two of the women yesterday understood that well enough.
Men like me.
Refusing to think on that, I run my fingers through a loose curl of her hair hanging down and tuck it behind her ear. “You ready for some more dancing?” I murmur.
“Yes. No fighting, though.”
“Something comes near you, I'll make myself felt, Wren Bird.”
She nods and keeps looking at me, accepting that. She needs to because that part of me is never going away. She’s damn lucky she didn’t get to see me do worse than shoving that fucker that touched her.
“Okay. Where this time then?” she asks.
