Chapter Six #2
God, Niles had been right. I was making it weird in my head. Two words and I’d immediately built a fourteen-story tragedy around them. The weaponized flamingo knew me too well.
The sound of a motorcycle caught my attention. Hope flared so hard it was embarrassing. But it could’ve been anyone. Riot wasn’t the only motorcycle enthusiast in town. I leaned forward and caught the bike first.
Then him.
I leaned back again, trying for a relaxed pose, my insides a quivering mess. I couldn’t let him see how much he affected me because I still wasn’t sure if he was down as badly as I was. If Riot wasn’t, I could, at the very least, walk away with half of my tattered dignity intact.
Riot killed the engine then swung a long leg over his bike. Nice range of motion. I filed that information away. Just in case.
Dark T-shirt. Leather jacket. Jeans that hugged his ass nicely. My heart forgot how to act. He glanced up and smiled the second he saw me. Not just smiled. His eyes lit up so clearly it caught me off guard.
Holy. Hell. My stomach dropped and lifted at the same time. He looked genuinely glad to see me.
I stood up like a meerkat spotting salvation then stopped myself from looking too eager. “What’re you doing here?” My voice was breathy. You’re supposed to be playing it cool, idiot.
He walked closer, staring at me like I’d been worth the trip, and I instantly forgot whatever dumb thing I was just thinking.
“Thought you could use some dinner.” The side of his mouth lifted, those light brown eyes still sparkling. He was either really happy or really drunk. Eyes sparkled in both cases, but Riot didn’t smell like booze.
Up close, he smelled like sun, clean soap, and the road. I inhaled deeply, uncaring that Riot could see me sniffing him.
“Sorry you had to work extra hours.” The deep rumble in his voice made my knees weak. I loved hearing him talk.
“It’s me and forty-seven socks against the world.”
He stepped close enough that my focus slid to his mouth for a beat before I dragged it back up. His free hand brushed my bare arm, like touching me was already normal.
“I brought you dinner,” he repeated.
For a second, I just stared at him. Riot was even more gorgeous than I remembered. My fingers itched to run through his soft-looking beard. Possibly nibble it too.
“Huh?” I’d heard him but was caught in those light brown beauties.
“Food.” Riot opened the storage box on the side of his bike, pulling out a bag stacked with plastic containers. Then he grabbed two cans of soda.
“Unless you’re not hungry.” Riot strode to the wall, my eyes glued to his ass.
He had to know I was zeroed in on his backside.
He was making my brain throw out error codes.
If Riot did know, he was nice enough not to tease me about it.
He lowered like he’d sat on that wall a million times before, long legs stretched out in front of him, and all I could think about was crawling onto his lap. “Mind if I eat?”
Wait. What was going on? Food… Right. Dinner. Starving.
“Eat that in front of me and I will tackle you.” I narrowed my eyes, part of me hoping Riot tried.
He arched a sexy eyebrow. “You’d attack me for food?”
He didn’t have to sound so amused.
“Oh, please.” I waved a hand in his direction. “Like I could actually do any damage. I’m more likely to sprain something on me than leave a bruise on you.”
I sat on the cinderblock still warm from the day’s heat, noticing how close our bodies now were, but I refused to scoot over. My focus was on the bag he’d set aside.
And maybe the muscles pressed against my arm. Riot didn’t complain that I was practically sitting in his lap, so I wasn’t budging.
“Are you sharing, or do I have to embarrass myself?” My gaze flicked from the bag to Riot’s face. He was gazing at me with a strange expression.
“Nothing you do would ever be embarrassing in my eyes.” He’d said it like he was genuinely confused by the concept.
It wasn’t a line. Riot had said it as fact, making me believe him.
A gust of evening heat moved between us.
“You can charm me all you want, but you’re divvying up the goods.” I poked him in his side. “Crack those containers open before I start chewing through the bag…or a customer, if one gets too close.”
My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t planned on working overtime, so I’d only packed a lunch, which I’d eaten six hours ago.
A sandwich and crackers, with a bottled water to wash it down.
Now, it felt as if my stomach was trying to eat its way out.
For food, I would definitely tackle him.
Arm wrestle. Naked wrestle. Didn’t matter.
Riot’s deep laugh rumbled through his chest. “I was just teasing you, hon.”
Hon. I liked how it sounded when Riot called me that. The word was full of warmth, the way he’d spoken to me like a friend since we’d met. I liked that Riot wasn’t all flirt. That would wear on my nerves pretty fast. Riot somehow kept a healthy balance, making me feel at ease.
Except for your catastrophizing not five minutes ago.
“Empanadas and yellow rice.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Is it weird I find your eyebrows sexy?” I asked. “Who gets turned on by brow movement? And I have no idea what that food is. I know rice. I’ve had it plenty of times, but it’s always been the boring long-grain kind.”
Riot leaned sideways, one brow slowly lifting. Entrapment. The bastard. “Nothing weird about it. Own what you like. Fuck what anyone else thinks.”
With his face so close, it would be so easy to kiss him, to gently bite his plump, lower lip and lick away the sting.
But Riot leaned away and pulled the containers from the bag. Steam lifted from the rice when he opened the lid. The smell wafted toward me as he opened the other container. Fried dough, meat, spice, and the seasoned rice.
I’d never smelled anything so incredible in my life. My mom was a decent cook but had never made anything that had me salivating like this. If anyone saw how badly I was drooling, they would think I was rabid.
“My god,” I said softly. “You’re either very nice or trying to get me into a van.”
“No van,” Riot said like a promise. His knee touched mine when he shifted to face me. It stayed there. “Bike.”
“Right. Sorry. I don’t want to mislabel your kidnapping.”
Riot scooped a forkful of rice and held it close to my mouth. “Taste.”
I looked at the fork then at him, a little confused. “Are you feeding me?”
His eyes held mine. “Yes. Open.”
“Well,” I said, my heart racing, “this is either sweet or still a part of your kidnapping plot.”
“Try it, hon.” He tapped my bottom lip with the end of the tines. “No need to be nervous. I would never drug such delicious food.”
I parted my lips. The fork slid in. Warm, moist rice, soft and seasoned all the way through. I chewed slowly, appreciating the different flavors waking up my taste buds. I groaned, my eyelids fluttering closed.
“Oh my god.” I smacked my thigh with my palm. If this kind of food was involved, Riot wouldn’t have to kidnap me. I would go willingly.
When I opened my eyes, he was watching me, looking pleased. “Good?”
I chewed, swallowed, then looked at him with feigned betrayal. “You can’t just feed me food like that.”
He leaned closer. “Like what?”
“Like the taste…and the-the smell. I become easily addicted to amazing things. I keep a stash of gummy worms hidden in my bedroom. It’s out of control. I need help.”
He squeezed my leg right above my knee. My body lit up like a live wire. That was the real addiction I craved.
“I’m the wrong person to steer you away from what you crave. I’ll only feed your habit.” He lifted the fork, and I didn’t hesitate this time.
“Feed my addiction, you savage,” I groaned. “Feed it until the bowls are empty. More. Give me more.” I was honestly blown away by how good it was. No lie, I could have licked the bowl clean and still wanted more.
This time he handed me a container and kept the other, and we ate side by side on the wall as traffic rolled past us.
I bit into the empanada, and my life was forever changed by a flaky crust and the hot meat filling, seasoned to perfection. This man had officially ruined me, and I had no regrets.
“Where did you get these?” I couldn’t stop eating it. Some of the meat spilled, luckily into my bowl. I didn’t want to waste any of it.
Riot took a drink of his soda. “Know a place.”
“That is deeply unhelpful.” I ate a forkful of rice, chewed, then swallowed. “Can’t get my fix if I don’t know the location.”
“I’ll give you a hint.”
“You’re being very suspicious.”
Riot jerked his chin toward my container. “The bowl. Look closely at it.”
I couldn’t stop eating long enough to lift mine, so I stared at his instead. Your typical plastic storage bowl. Though these were a bit thicker, with green, durable lids.
My mom had a similar kind, though hers weren’t this sturdy.
“These containers didn’t come from a restaurant.” I glanced up at him. “These came from someone’s kitchen.” I licked my fingers, wishing I had another empanada. “Yours?”
Riot winked.
“You actually made this?” I peeked into his bowl, but it was now as empty as mine. The guy was good-looking and could cook?
“Man of many talents.” Riot set aside his bowl, running his tongue through the inside of his mouth. “I could teach you how to make them, if you want.”
“I’ll try but don’t get pissed if I screw it up.” My stomach was full, and I was ready to get out of there. I’d worked my scheduled eight hours, plus four more. So much for finding someone to cover Beth’s shift. I should’ve known Carla wouldn’t be able to. We were her only three employees.
“Making mistakes is part of learning.” Riot brushed the back of his fingers down my arm.
“Honestly, I thought you were no longer interested.” I took a drink of my soda. Grape. My favorite flavor, and it was still cold. “Your text was very ‘fare thee well.’”
“What?” Riot chuckled. He turned slightly sideways, one arm resting along the wall behind me. “You already had to work late. I was letting you know it was fine without disturbing you.”