Chapter Fifteen #3
I open my mouth to respond, but then he smirks that smirk of his.
“Well…” he adds, voice dropping like a stone into sinful territory, “the second best meat.”
My stomach flips. My brain combusts.
“Second?” I croak.
He nods toward my lap. Not subtly. At all.
“My baby has the best meat,” he murmurs, eyes blazing. “By far.”
I swear my soul leaves my body.
“I know I keep repeating this,” I whisper, wide-eyed as I glance around to make sure nobody is listening, “But it bears repeating again. You are certifiably insane.”
He grins.
“And you’re very cute,” he says, like it’s a sin he enjoys committing. “Tell me something about yourself, Eli. Something I don’t know.”
“My favorite color is—”
“Teal,” he finishes without hesitation.
I blink. “Okay… my favorite food—”
“Chinese.” He smirks. “Specifically, the tiny family-owned place with the red lanterns. You also like romance movies, but only if nobody dies. You hate those granola bars you carry everywhere, you love to sing when you think no one’s listening, your dream holiday is some future Thanksgiving surrounded by a gigantic family, and you absolutely hate working at the garage. ”
I stare at him like he just read my diary out loud.
“The girls,” I whisper, wide-eyed. “They interrogated me yesterday. You sneaky punk.”
“I promised them I’d talk Spike into adding a slide to the pool behind the clubhouse,” he shrugs. “Already got the all-clear. As soon as this mess with you-know-who is done, I’ll have it installed.”
I gape at him.
“That’s not really fair,” I pout. “I don’t know anything about you except that you’re bossy and always get what you want. I don’t even know your real name.”
“Easy,” he says, leaning in with that stupidly charming smile. “I was named Viktor Bryant. Only use it when I legally have to.”
“Why Skip?” I ask.
His smirk turns wicked, almost nostalgic.
“During a run many years back…a club thing…I got shot in the side of the head.”
He taps the faint scar near his temple.
“After stumbling back, I attacked the guy and killed him. Apparently, after I finished the job, I literally skipped back to my bike while he bled out on the ground.”
I stare at him.
“That,” I say slowly, “is the most Skip reason I’ve ever heard.”
He winks.
“My favorite color is red, food is steak, horror movies, and my new favorite holiday is a future Thanksgiving where we’re surrounded by a gigantic family.”
“You can’t steal my answer,” I laugh.
“It’s the truth, though,” he shrugs. “I can’t wait to spend every holiday with you. Fair warning…our family is insane. But if you want a quiet one, we’ll have that too.”
“No,” I answer instantly. “I’ve only ever had quiet Thanksgivings. I dream of the kind where I have to sneak away to another room for a breather.”
“Well, a Shadows get-together will definitely give you that,” he chuckles. “Just wait until—”
“Oh, Skippy, I knew it was you,” a woman purrs as she slides into the booth beside Skip, hand brushing over his cut. “I’ve missed you, baby. After you’re done hanging out with your friend, wanna come back to my place?”
Skip’s expression turns to stone.
“What is my number one fucking rule, woman?”
“Oh… sorry, Skippy. I forgot.”
She removes her hand from his cut but doesn’t move her perfect little body an inch. Then her hand drifts to his chest.
My stomach falls.
“New number one fucking rule,” Skip says, voice lethal. “Don’t touch me. At all. And never…fucking ever…disrespect my man again by hanging all over me.”
“Your man?” she repeats, dumbstruck. “Where is he? I don’t mind a threesome.”
She looks right at me…well…sort of. She’s glancing over my shoulder, trying to find that person Skip’s talking about.
Ouch.
“Excuse me,” I choke out, trying to slide from the booth. Skip’s boot slams onto the seat, blocking my exit.
“You are exactly where you’re wanted, baby,” he growls. Then turns back to the bombshell of a woman. “You have three seconds to move the fuck away from me and apologize to my man. Right. Fucking. Now. Syndy.”
“Oh!” she squeaks, scrambling away before looking at me in disbelief. “Sorry! I didn’t realize he was the man you were talking about.”
Great. Perfect. Another beautiful person who once had Skip’s attention, standing right here to remind me what I’m not.
“Well, hello, sexy,” another voice says.
I look up to see the Twinkie server delivering our food. Who is very obviously eyeing Skip like a buffet he’s already sampled.
“For fuck’s sake,” Skip mutters. “I’m being punished. Put the food down and go.”
The server sets the plates on the table, ass swaying on purpose. Syndy is still hovering, smirking.
I don’t fight as Skip grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet.
“Listen the fuck up!” he bellows.
Instant silence. Every head turns.
“Skip,” I whisper, mortified.
He turns me toward him, pulling my face against his chest…shielding me. I grab his cut instinctively.
“Wait! He can touch your cut, but I can’t?” Syndy gasps.
I jerk my hand back, horrified. Skip grabs it, slaps it right back onto his cut, and stares her down.
“Can it, woman,” he growls.
Then he faces the bar.
“Listen, and listen carefully,” he snarls, voice carrying like a gunshot.
“The next person who disrespects my man…looks at him wrong, speaks to him wrong, breathes wrong in his direction…will learn a lesson they won’t fucking survive.”
No one moves.
“I’m not interested in anyone else,” he continues. “Not your bodies, not your beds, not your offers. I don’t want your attention. I don’t want your hands on me. I don’t want your histories with me.”
He tightens his arm around me.
“Eli is the only one I touch. The only one I want. The only one I let near my cut. So, hear me now. Skip is off the market. For good. And if any of you decide to test that?”
His voice goes razor sharp.
“I’ll deliver your fucking heart to my man as an offering.”
Skip calmly reaches over, grabs both our plates, and moves them to a nearby table with chairs.
He scoots his chair out, drops into it, then hauls me sideways onto his lap like I weigh nothing.
“Now,” he says, kissing the side of my jaw. “Where were we?”
I clear my throat, trying to ignore the fact that an entire bar just watched me get claimed like a medieval treasure.
“Um…four things,” I manage.
He hums against my neck.
“One,” I say, “I don’t want anyone’s organs delivered to me. Thank you, though.”
Skip snorts.
“Two…” I gesture awkwardly at myself. “I can sit in my own chair. I’m too big to be sitting on your lap. Especially in public. With my size, it doesn’t look… natural.”
His hand tightens on my hip, just enough to cut off my rambling.
“Three…I thought you weren’t into twinks?”
I look back at the cute little server and frown.
“And four,” I whisper, “thank you. Because… I’ll admit it… for a second, I was doubting us. They were both so perfectly pretty.”
Skip goes very, very still.
He doesn’t speak right away.
Just takes a few moments to gather his thoughts.
He leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the curve of my neck…right where my pulse is jumping like crazy.
He takes his time. Breathes me in. Holds me steady.
“One,” he murmurs, lips brushing my skin, “I can agree on the organ thing. No hearts delivered to my pretty boy. Shame, though…I was gonna label the box real nice.”
I elbow him weakly; he chuckles.
“Two,” he continues, voice dropping deeper, “you’re staying right here so those trolls leave us the hell alone. And because I want you here. And because…”
His hand slides around my waist slowly and settles against my chubby belly like it’s his favorite place on Earth.
“I fucking love that I can actually feel you in my lap, Eli. I love your body. I love your weight. I love every single inch of you. One day you’re going to believe that.”
My breath catches.
“Three,” he smiles against my skin. “I never slept with that twink.”
For some reason, that calms me the most so far.
“And four…” he whispers, brushing his lips up the side of my throat. “Their type of pretty doesn’t mean shit to me. I’ve had pretty. I’ve had beautiful. I’ve had every flavor of lust you can imagine.”
He turns my face toward his. His forehead rests against my cheek.
“But you?” His voice breaks into a quiet growl. “You make me feel. You make me fight. You make me fucking terrified in all the best ways. Those people aren’t competition. They’re ghosts. You’re the only real thing in this whole damn place. You are my perfectly perfect pretty boy.”
My chest goes tight.
Skip presses one more kiss to my neck.
“Now eat your wings, baby,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over my hip like he’s soothing a startled animal. “We need to calm your racing heart down some.”
I swallow hard. Mostly because my heart is racing…and also because Skip talking about my body like it’s something precious does things to me I’m not emotionally prepared for.
He lifts one of my wings, holds it to my mouth like he expects me to take a bite.
“Go on,” he says. “Eat. Before you pass out again, and I gotta explain to the whole damn bar why my boyfriend keeps rebooting like a Windows ’98 laptop.”
I snort…an actual, embarrassing snort…and take a bite.
I glare halfheartedly. “Feeding me like this while I’m in your lap is not helping my heart rate any.”
He hums again, that deep, pleased sound that should honestly be illegal.
“That’s the point, baby.”
“The point?” I sputter.
“Yeah,” he says, brushing another kiss to my neck like he’s punctuating his own sentence. “Your heart. The one I plan to keep nice and trained so it stops freaking out every time I touch you.”
My breath hitches. “Trained?”
“Uh-huh.”
He lifts another wing to my lips.
“You think I’m just flirting? Nah, pretty boy. This is exposure therapy.”
I choke on absolutely nothing.
“Exposure…Skip, that’s not going to work!”
He laughs quietly, warm breath hitting my jaw in a way that should not be allowed in public.
“You’re sitting on my lap, eating good food, in my arms, while half this bar pretends not to stare at us. And your heart’s racing… but you’re not fainting.”
“…yet,” I mutter. “I might once I calm down a bit.”
He smirks. “Exactly. We’re building stamina.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says, nipping my earlobe. “You love me. And your body’s already learning that excitement with me doesn’t mean danger.”
My face is on fire.
“Now open up,” he murmurs, guiding the food back to my mouth. “Eat. Relax. And let your ass get used to the best seat in the house.”
“Your lap is not the best seat.”
“It is,” he corrects calmly. “And it’s yours.”
My pulse spikes so hard I swear the entire booth shakes.
Skip just chuckles, all warm and proud.
“See?” he says. “Exposure therapy.”
“Certifiably—”
“Insane,” Skip laughs. “Yep, I know.”
“You do realize that nothing can fix me, right?” I say, truly concerned he’s not actually joking. “No amount of therapy, exposure, or otherwise, can rewire my circuits.”
“Fuck, baby,” he sighs, wrapping both arms around me and holding me tightly. “I know that. I’ve researched everything there is to know about your condition. I didn’t mean to pick fun. I love you just the way you are. Mixed up circuits and all. I was just flirting.”
“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” I sigh.
Which turns into a glare when he takes one of my wings and bites the meat off the bone.
“Hey, those are mine,” I say.
Skip gives me the slowest, cockiest grin I’ve ever seen in my entire life…like he just stole candy from a toddler and planned to do it again.
He licks his fingers without an ounce of remorse.
“Baby,” he says, all smug and sinful, “what’s mine is yours…and yours is mine.”
I blink. “That… that was my wing.”
“And I’m your man,” he shrugs. “So by extension, that was our wing.”
“That’s not how food works, Skip!”
“Sure it is.” He grabs another wing…my wing…and winks as he lifts it toward his mouth. “Watch, I’ll demonstrate.”
“Skip, don’t you dare!”
I turn my head so that I can fully watch his crime.
He eats the wing in one bite, sliding the bone from his mouth.
I gasp like he’s committed treason. “Oh my gosh, you barbarian.”
“Pretty boy,” he says, voice warm and amused, “If sharing wings is what breaks you, we’re gonna have a long road ahead.”
“I’m serious!” I hiss, smacking his shoulder. “Stealing someone’s wings should be a felony. That was the best one! It had extra sauce!”
“Then,” he murmurs, dipping his chin to brush a warm kiss against my cheek, “you can have the next best one.”
He holds out a wing like he’s offering me the Holy Grail.
I narrow my eyes at him, dead serious. “Keep ’em coming, big guy. I’ve got a figure to maintain.”
Skip’s grin goes slow and wicked. “Good. I like having more of you to hold onto. Now eat up. Turns out feeding my man is a brand-new kink I didn’t know I had.”
I reach for the wing, but he jerks it back, giving me a glare that could peel paint.
“What part of feeding didn’t you understand?” he says. “Open up, pretty boy.”
I want to glare right back at him with the reminder that I’m not some dainty little woman in a romance novel he has to fuss over.
But the truth? I like his fussing.
Probably too much.
So instead of saying anything that might ruin the moment, I shut my mouth… then open it again like he asked…and I let him feed me.