Page 10 of Riot Reunion
I pull a face at her to let her know in a roundabout way that she's won, and she crows with delight, giving me a little push as we near the end of the block. “God, you're so sheltered. Tell me you didn't haveservantsto collect the food for you when you lived with your parents.”
“Idon't know who bought the food. I came down when they rang the dinner bell, and there it was on the table, prepped, plated, and ready to eat.”
Elodie shakes her head, her beautiful long hair swaying from side to side. She laughs at me some more, then it dawns on her that we're standing in front of a vendor, and the heady smell of sugar wafting out of his bodega is strong enough to bring her to her knees. I turn and address the middle-aged guy wearing the little paper hat. “Six, please.”
Elodie punches me in the arm. “Shut up. You are not buying me six powdered sugar donuts right now.”
“You're damn right. I'm not. I'm buying two for you and four for me.”
Pouting, she snakes the little paper bag of donuts the vendor offers to us before I can, and the old man laughs. “Always buy twice the amount you think you need when there’s a young lady around. The prettiest girls never like to share.”
I wrap a possessive arm around Elodie’s shoulders, handing over a ten-dollar bill to him as I do. “Actually,I’mthe one who doesn't like to share.”
Let him make of that what he will.
I tell him to keep the change.
As we walk across the street and make our way toward the hotel, Elodie does her best to play keep away with me, attempting to hold our sugary treat at arm’s length, but her arms are comically short in comparison to mine—sheis comically short—and I managed to snatch the bag out of her hands before we've even walked ten feet. I take one of the small sugar-encrusted donuts out of the bag and smash the entire thing into my mouth in one go.
Elodie gasps in horror. “That wasmine!”
It’s difficult to talk around the warm, melt-in-your-mouth dough. I find a way, though. “Mmm.Delicious.”
“You'd better hand over that bag this instant.” Elodie’s expression is adorable—an angry little kitten, throwing a tantrum because it can't get its own way. I take another donut from the bag and hold it high over her head. She tries to reach it but can't. “If you eat another one of those donuts, I am never letting you touch my boobs again,” she warns.
“Don't make threats you can't follow through on. You love me touching your boobs just as much as I love touching them. You'll only be punishing yourself.”
“It’s a price I'm willing to pay!”
I tear a tiny piece off of the donut and pop it into my mouth. “Lies.”
Elodie gasps, infuriated. She scrunches her nose, then her entire expression transforms as something clearly occurs to her. I know I've made a very grave error, holding both arms over my head, when she lunges forward and tickles me. It's all over in a matter of seconds. I've relinquished the donuts, and Elodie is happily munching away on them as I attempt to recover myself from the assault.
“Low blow,” I growl into her ear.
She glows, pleased with herself. “You should never keep a girl from sugar when she's excited about moving into her new home. It'll end badly for you every single time.”
Her head is down, her attention fixed on her food, which is why she doesn't see the tall guy in the black bomber jacket step into her path up ahead. I lunge to grab her and guide her around him, amused that she’s so obsessed with sugar that she’s blind to her surroundings, but she’sjustout of reach. The tall guy, wearing horn-rimmed glasses, sporting an impressive beard, takes her by the arms, scaring the ever-loving shit out of her. She nearly drops the donuts. “Ahh! Shit, sorry! I didn't see you.”
“That’s okay.” He smiles at her kindly. “Happens to the best of us. Hey, wait.” He frowns, and I immediately donotlike the look of false recognition on his face. It seems disingenuous and comes out of nowhere. “You’re…Elodie Stillwater, right?”
Alarm bells go off in my head, loud as a claxon. I'm beside Elodie in a split second, putting myself between her and this stranger. I clench my jaw, gunning him down with a murderous stare. “Who the fuck are you? What do you want?”
The guy shrugs, giving me that plastic, fake smile of his, lowering his voice an octave as he addresses me, like I can be soothed by a few placating words. “Easy, buddy. I just want a few words with the young lady. Won't take a second, I promise. Then you lovebirds can be on your way.”
Buddy?
Where the fuck does he get off, calling mebuddy?
“Back the fuck up right now, my man, or you're gonna find yourself eating your own fucking teeth.”
The guy’s expression shutters: he processes my tone and the look of pure violence I'm wearing. He thought he could cow me because he's older than me? Because he’s a fraction taller? He knows better now. One more wrong word from him and he’ll be on his way to the fucking ICU. “Look. I don't want any trouble. I just need to ask your friend a question or two—”
A low growl builds in the back of my throat. “She's not myfriend. She’s my girlfriend. She keeps me polite. She doesn't like it when I hit people in public, which is the only reason why you're still standing on your own two feet, breathing the same air as her. Now, tell me who the fuck you are and what you want with her before I becomelesspolite.”
He's annoyed. He slides his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulls out his cell phone. I assume, like any sane person would, that he's about to call the police, but he moves fast, holding his phone up, aiming the lens of the camera at Elodie, his thumb quickly hitting the button on his screen—
“Hell no, motherfucker!” I swat the phone out of his hand, knocking it to the ground. From the loud cracking sound, his screen smashes on impact, which brings me no small amount of joy. I'm even happier when I bring the heel of my boot down onto the back of the device’s metal casing. The stranger, whoever the hell he is, tries to grab it, but I shove him back hard enough to send him sprawling out onto the ground. He goes down hard.
