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I don't know why I thought taking her to the food truck was a good idea.
Maybe because it was simple, because she liked simple things, because I forgot she could do anything and still manage to fuck me up.
She sat next to me on the bench, feet together, skirt pressed to her thighs, legs crossed like the smallest, softest thing in New York.
She looked up at me with those big brown eyes like she trusted me with her whole life.
Her scent was warm, vanilla-like as always.
It was uniquely her. Very addicting.
That alone was enough to make my chest feel something.
But then she held the wrap with both hands, like it was too big for her. Like everything in this world was too big for her.
"Shawarma?" she whispered.
"You'll like it," I said.
She lifted it, took what had to be the tiniest bite I'd ever seen. A fucking mouse could've taken a bigger bite. And then it happened.
A streak of white garlic sauce slid across the corner of her mouth.
Her lips parted.
Her tongue appeared like she was about to lick it away.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
My pulse actually jumped.
I forgot where the hell we were.
I stared. I shouldn't have. But I did. My eyes always betray me.
I've killed men for less and here I was fighting for my life over garlic sauce on her lips.
Then she said it.
"I have to admit... this is the best thing I've ever had in my mouth."
My grip tightened on the wrap so hard the foil crushed.
I swallowed hard.
I had to look away. Because if I looked at her while she said that? I would've disgraced myself on a public bench. Fuckin' embarrassing. I don't think I even acted like this as a teenager.
"The things you say," I muttered.
"What?" she asked, clueless.
Her innocence was a weapon. Soft in a way no woman I'd ever met had been. Dangerous in a way only she could be.
She took another bite.
More sauce. Lower on her lip this time.
Before her tongue could lick it off, I reached forward, grabbed a napkin, and wiped it for her, slowly.
Her lashes fluttered and her breath caught.
"Thanks... best friend," she teased.
Best friend.
That word should be illegal.
I said nothing. I couldn't. I forced myself back before I did something reckless. What kind of sick man gets hard in public over some garlic sauce. Shit.
She had no idea how easily men could fall for her.
She kept looking at me like she didn't notice I was falling apart inside.
Then she laughed at something Amir yelled from the truck. Her head tilted back. Her neck exposed. Her smile soft.
And every man at that food truck noticed her.
That's when I shifted closer, just enough. She didn't notice, but they understood.
I stayed sane.
They stayed alive.
Because if anyone looked at her too long, I might lose my mind and hurt someone.
She went back to eating, oblivious.
And I forced myself to eat too.
Except every time she licked her thumb, adjusted her skirt, or smiled at me like I wasn't the most fucked up man in New York...
My sanity slipped a little more.
Maybe a lot more.
She had no idea.
She never would because I can't tell her. I have to protect her.