Chapter 8 #4
“How about tacos?” I ask, figuring that might be our safest bet. “Or pizza?”
“Whatever you want is fine with me,” he says. Keeping my hand in his, he leads me out of the room and down the hall. It’s busier and a little louder tonight since it’s Friday, but aside from some very curious looks, we’re able to get outside with little fuss.
He looks around when I start to lead him towards the footpath that will take us to the east side of campus and the side street that the restaurant is on. When we’re almost to it, I look up at him and ask, “Do you trust me?”
He raises a brow at the question but gives a slow nod of his head and says, “I do, yes.”
“Good.” Right as we step out from the path, I spread my arms beneath the large Bean Me Up sign and say, “Ta-da!” while adding in a bit of jazz hands.
He laughs and scrubs a hand over his jaw. “You’re a vegetarian, aren’t you?” He eyes the brightly lit restaurant. “I suspected, but I thought maybe you just liked this place that happened to be vegetarian and not because it is vegetarian.”
“They’re really good,” I tell him, “but if you’d rather, we can get pizza. I’ll just get a cheese one and you can load up on all kinds of meat.”
“No.” He eyes the place again and then grabs my hand to lead me inside. “I want to try this.”
Grinning, I follow him into the small restaurant that’s been my dietary staple since I first started classes last year. It’s nothing fancy, the kind of place that has you order at a counter so you can either take it to go or sit at one of the tables, but I love it.
It’s always busy and tonight is no exception.
Their tacos are so good that even meat-eaters love them.
While we wait in line, Sasha keeps an arm wrapped around me with my body snuggled against his.
I follow his lead and wrap an arm around his waist, surprised when I feel something hard against the small of his back.
When I slip my hand under his shirt, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Careful, Cyn. I keep my knives very sharp.”
I jerk my hand away when I feel the sheath that’s lying horizontally along his belt. I’ve seen firsthand how wicked that knife looks, and the last thing I want is to accidentally cut my finger off or make it obvious that the guy I’m with is carrying a concealed weapon.
“Do you always carry that thing around?” I whisper.
I swear I feel him grin against my cheek before he says, “Yes.” His fingers curl around the back of my neck in a possessive move that makes me a little weak in the knees. “Do you have my present on you right now?”
I think about the knife in my pocket and nod. “Yeah, I put it in my pocket before I left for class this morning.”
His fingers caress the side of my neck while he whispers, “Good girl,” in my ear.
I manage to stay on my feet, but there’s no stopping the soft, needy sigh I give at hearing him say that.
I hear his deep chuckle, the one that sounds downright wicked, before he says, “I think we just discovered a new kink, krovinka.”
Before I can embarrass myself by grabbing him by the dick and leading him out of the restaurant, the people in front of us leave and it’s our turn to order.
Proving he’s game for anything, Sasha leaves it to me to order, so I decide to splurge and get all my favorites, figuring there must be something in there he’ll like.
When I reach for my wallet, a large tattooed hand stops me, and I get a very disapproving look before he hands over his own card and then discreetly drops a twenty into the tip jar.
There’s something about the fact that he didn’t want anyone to see him leave it that warms my heart more than him insisting on paying for the meal.
Sasha may think he’s all dark, but I’m determined to get him to see that he has a good bit of light in him as well.
He grabs the large tray of food while I grab our drinks. We take a booth in the back, and I can’t stop grinning when I hand him the plate of black bean tacos and some of the best guacamole in the world. He sees my excited face and grins.
“You’re going to just sit there and watch me eat this, aren’t you?”
“I am,” I tell him.
He takes a big bite of his taco. I watch his chiseled jaw move as he eats while I wait to see if he likes it or not.
He gives me a thumbs up, so I immediately start piling more onto his plate, giving him one of the tacos that has marinated soy crumbles instead of meat and then another that has spiced chickpeas and cucumber.
“Cyn?” he says, waiting for me to stop filling his plate and meet his eyes. “Fix yourself a plate, krovinka. You need to eat, too.”
“Do you really like it, or are you just saying that to make me happy?”
He’s quiet as he reaches out to tuck some of my unruly hair behind my ear. “I rarely say things just to make someone else happy, but I think I would for you. I’m being serious, though. This is surprisingly good.”
I grin and grab one of the black bean tacos and a large scoop of guacamole. “Tell me about yourself,” I say before I take a bite.
“That’s a complicated question with an even more complicated answer,” he says and then takes a bite so he doesn’t have to answer.
I raise a brow to let him know I’m onto his game. “Well, I know you love your dog, that you’re really good with a knife, that you’re very observant, and I also know that you’re actually a pretty big softie underneath the somewhat violent exterior.”
“You’re very wrong about me, Cyn.” He wipes his hands with a napkin and then rests his forearms on the table as he looks at me.
“You see the good in people, even when there is no good to see. I won’t bother with the lecture about how that puts you in danger, because I won’t ever allow anything to happen to you, but you need to see me as I really am.
” He runs his fingers over mine as he says, “Don’t forget that I’m the bad guy.
I’m the monster you should be afraid of, and whatever softness I possess, it begins and ends with you. ”
“I know you believe that,” I say, refusing to be afraid of him, even though Sasha is a formidable presence that everyone takes notice of.
The other people here keep stealing glances at him, either from fear or lust, but even though I have no doubt Sasha could close his eyes and describe every detail of what’s around us right now, he doesn’t give any indication that he’s paying attention to anyone other than me.
“You seem close to your family, though. I bet you’re kind to them. ”
“My family is different.” He gives me another quick wink. “Like you, they’re firmly on the do not kill list.”
“Tell me about them.”
He takes a drink of his Mexican Coke before telling me about his family.
He tells me about his parents and sisters, about their husbands and his oldest sister’s kids, and then he briefly tells me about his cousins and their families and explains that his dad and uncles decided to become a family by choice when they were teenagers in Moscow.
There’s no way I can remember all the names, but I try my best to keep up with it all.
“Wow, you have a really big family.” Grinning, I add, “See, your no-kill list is huge, ya big softie.”
He nearly chokes on his drink, causing even more people to turn and stare at him. While he gets himself under control, I reach over and pat his back.
“You okay?” I ask. “You can’t choke to death at my favorite restaurant. I’ll never be able to eat here again, and they have the best tacos in the city.”
“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he says, and this time it’s his turn to watch me while he tries to figure me out.
“Don’t waste your time,” I tell him. “This enigma can’t be cracked.” I can’t say it with a straight face, because I’m hardly a psychological puzzle, and when he sees my smile slip through, he grins and reaches over to cup my face.
“Do you want to see where I live?”
The question surprises me. I hadn’t been expecting an invite to his place, but I know it’s an invitation to get to know him better, to see a part of his life that he usually keeps hidden, so I quickly nod my head and say, “I’d love that.”
The corner of his mouth lifts up, and I’m starting to realize those half-grins of his are the equivalent of full-blown smiles on anyone else.
“Chort will be excited to see you again,” he says and then nudges my plate. “But first you need to finish your supper.”
I grab another taco, and it’s only when we’re finished and leaving Bean Me Up that I realize it’s been a few weeks since I’ve had a panic attack.
I usually get anxiety, if not an actual attack, that’s bad enough to have me mentally reciting what I can see and feel to try and ground myself to the present, but I haven’t had to do that since the night I was attacked.
Looking up at Sasha as he guides me down the crowded sidewalk, I can’t help but assume his presence has something to do with that.
He makes me feel safe, makes me feel like I don’t need to worry about anything, like everything will be okay as long as he’s near me.
It’s a dangerous way to think, because it’s too soon.
I shouldn’t be comforted by him in the way that I am, and I definitely shouldn’t be going and getting myself attached.
No anxiety for a few weeks, but it seems I’m doing my damnedest tonight to bring it all back, because the more I think about it, the more I worry, and by the time we stop in front of the massive black motorcycle, I’m more than a little convinced that I might be in way over my head.
He hands me a dark helmet. “I don’t have a spare on me, but you can use mine for now. I’ve got an extra at home you can have.”
I keep eyeing the large bike. “What if I fall off?”
“I would never let that happen.”