Sixteen #5
“Yeah,” I said, feeling my face burn. Not that I had anything to apologize for. I was a grown adult, even though sitting on the other side of the table from Russo made me feel like a little kid.
Hooking up with Mateo was fun. Until it turned out he could be a murder suspect.
Russo shook his head. “We’ve got a perp who knows how to manipulate IP addresses and use tech, and it didn’t occur to you that he could find you on Spark? Target you there?”
I shook my head slowly. No, it hadn’t occurred to me. I felt foolish then. Silly. I was too busy being distracted by his abs to think that he could be the one using me.
Just like right now, watching Russo’s Adam’s apple in his thick neck made me think of what it would be like to give this man a hickey. I took another sip of my wine.
“And then he follows you here… to what? Finish the job?” Russo clucked his tongue in disapproval. “Maybe you’re losing a step. You used to be sharper than this.”
I felt the sting of the insult.
The waitress arrived, I hoped with menus. But instead, she carried a big plate of… stuffed horror. I watched in dread as the baby bella tops covered in cheese were set in front of me, and I nearly threw up right there.
“Bon appétit,” Marjorie chirped, unhelpfully, as she left our table.
Instinctively, I leaned back in my chair as if that little extra distance would be enough to protect me. Russo plucked one right off the plate and popped it into his mouth whole.
“You ordered mushrooms.” It came out as an accusation, not a question. “I hate mushrooms.”
“You don’t mean that,” Russo said, in almost the same exact tone as my mother.
“I do,” I countered, recoiling. “I hate them.” They were the cousin of toe fungus. They had the consistency of alien flesh. Nope.
“Come on. Try them! It’s good. It’s mostly cheese.”
I shook my head again. “No, thanks,” I said tightly.
Russo just laughed a little and shook his head. “Stubborn,” he said, as if it were a challenge he liked, like leveling up on a video game. He ate another one. He waved one near me. I wouldn’t look at it. “You really won’t even try it?”
I met his blue gaze: firm, stern, determined.
For a second, I almost capitulated. It was hard to tell him no.
I understood why suspects confessed when they were on the other side of an interrogation table from Aaron Russo.
He held up the mushroom with a determined bent of his lip. I almost just caved and took a bite.
“No,” I said quietly but firmly. He popped the mushroom into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, never breaking eye contact with me. He swiped a crumb off the table and shook his head slowly.
“You disappoint me,” he said. “I thought you were more adventurous than that.”
I swallowed the defensive words that popped up in my throat. I longed for Jude. He took my dislike of mushrooms as seriously as I did.
Marjorie came back with a pitcher of water to refill our water glasses. “Everything okay with the appetizer?” She sent a worried glance to the mostly full plate.
“It’s great,” Russo said. “Can you believe she won’t try one?”
“Why not?” Marjorie looked at me sharply, as if I’d suddenly declared myself a lizard person who lived at the center of the earth.
“I don’t like them,” I said quietly. I felt like I was being scolded in front of the whole class.
“How does she know if she doesn’t try?” Russo asked the waitress, who nodded her head in agreement.
“You should really try them,” she agreed.
“I don’t want to try them.” My voice was low, almost a whisper.
“You’ll try them, won’t you?” Russo asked Marjorie.
“Me? Oh… uh, I’m not really supposed to.” She glanced over her shoulder as if worried her manager might discover her eating with the customers.
“Oh, nobody’s around. Go on.” Russo picked up a mushroom and held it aloft. “You work hard and deserve a treat.”
Marjorie hesitated, but I watched as her resolve completely melted as she met Russo’s insistent gaze. The power that man had to make people do what he wanted was no joke. I watched her as she dipped down and let Russo feed her the whole mushroom cap.
“Mmm,” she said, nodding. “Mmmmmmm.” She elongated the moan of appreciation for Russo’s benefit. He flashed her a smile that made color bloom on her cheekbones.
“Now, you’re free to go,” Russo said with a little wave. She giggled and trotted off toward the kitchen. He watched her go.
“Sure you won’t try one now?”
“No,” I said firmly, watching Marjorie glance back over her shoulder. I felt put out, for sure, or maybe it was just the fact I was definitely buzzed. That wine was hitting me like a freight train. Mental reminder: Don’t shotgun a glass of wine on an empty stomach.
“You jealous?” Russo asked me, and the question took me by surprise. Was I jealous? I didn’t think I was jealous. I was… annoyed. There was a difference. “You shouldn’t be jealous, kid. She’s not my type.”
She was young and pretty, so I thought she was everyone’s type.
“What’s your type, then?”
Russo sent me a sly smile. “You haven’t figured it out yet?” he asked me, his eyes glinting with a secret. “You. You’re my type.”