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“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he tossed over his shoulder, his smirk almost audible.
My gaze swept over smeared wallpaper clinging to life from a bygone era, its psychedelic swirls a testament to the 70s. The floor, stained a deep red from years of spilled sauces and foot traffic, muffled our steps. Old wooden floors creaked beneath the worn paths between tables and booths, as if narrating tales of every soul who’d dined there before us. Above all this decay, the aroma of sizzling meat and spices hung heavy.
“Fuckin’ time capsule,” I said, unable to help the curl of my lip at the cracked leather seats that dotted the room like open wounds on an old soldier’s skin. But damn, it smelled good.
Darius led us to the back, his steps sure and unbothered by the dive’s less-than-stellar decor. We slid into a booth tucked away in the corner. The seat groaned under my weight, and I eyed the tears in the leather, wondering what stories they could tell. Darius plopped down beside me, stretching out like he owned the place, his eyes twinkling with mischief under the dim lighting.
“Cozy, huh?” He grinned, obviously getting a kick out of my discomfort.
“Sure,” I replied, trying to match his ease.
This was his world, not mine. I was used to crisp linens and hushed tones. But watching Darius, his fuck-you attitude oozing from every pore, I sank into the cushion, the unfamiliarity of the environment bleeding away under the weight of something far more potent: desire. The greasy menu slapped open in Darius’s hands, a flimsy testament to all things deep-fried and delicious. He flipped to the page he wanted, like he’d done it a thousand times before.
“Show off,” I said, reaching for the second menu.
His fingers closed around the menu before I could even touch it, yanking it away with a smirk that dared me to challenge him. “You don’t need this.”
I narrowed my gaze. “And how the hell am I supposed to order?”
“Chill, I’ve got us covered.”
“Wow, look at you. Taking the lead.”
“Yup.” Theppopped between us, hanging in the air like a challenge. He leaned back, arms stretched out along the top of the booth, owning the space as if he were the fucking king of this rundown castle.
Heat curled in my gut, a mix of irritation and want. I leaned back too, mirroring his pose. Our little power play simmered between us, electric and charged. And damn if it didn’t feel right. The waiter shuffled over, his back curved from years bending to others’ whims. Time had worn him down to a gentle stoop, his smile lines etched deep into his weathered face. Darius greeted him with a rogue’s grin, pupils glinting with mischief.
“Let’s start with the kids’ menu,” Darius drawled, leaning forward on his elbows.
“Excuse me?” The words shot out of me before I could clamp down on the indignation, but Darius just threw his head back, laughter spilling out like a rich liquor.
“Just kidding.” He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat, the joke evidently as satisfying as it was unexpected.
He rattled off our order next, words tumbling out in a cascade of syllables that made zero sense to my ears. It sounded more like a spell from some ancient grimoire than anything you’d find on a diner menu. The old man scribbled with a shaky hand, nodding along to Darius’s rapid-fire litany. With a final scratch of pen on paper, he hobbled away, leaving us once again in the privacy of our dimly lit corner.
“Really, the kids’ menu?” I tossed the words at him like a challenge. “Interesting.” I leaned in close, so damn close, our noses almost touched. “Coming from someone who can’t open a pill bottle.”
His soft laugh filled the space between us. “Fuck off,” he said with no heat, eyes glinting with mischief.
The waiter shuffled back to our table, placing down our drinks with a nod. My soda hit the table with a clink, ice cubes dancing. I took a greedy sip, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat radiating off Darius.
He was watching me again, that intense gaze of his that always seemed to see right through me. It pissed me off how much I liked it—how much I liked him. I shifted in the booth, suddenly all too aware of the man sitting beside me.
I narrowed my eyes at Darius, the table’s edge digging into my forearms. “What?” I demanded, not in the mood for his cryptic bullshit.
“Nothing.” He shrugged, that infuriating nonchalance of his making me want to throttle him and pull him closer all at once.
“Go on, use your words like a good boy.” My voice was low, a growl that dared him to provoke me further.
He paused, gaze locking onto mine. “Dare you,” he said, voice soft with an edge sharp enough to cut.
“Dare me to what?” The question was pointless; that look in his eyes spoke volumes, and my pulse ran jagged. “You better be glad I like you.” I leaned toward him, closing the gap between us. Heat radiated from his body, beckoning me nearer.
His lips twitched into a half-smile. “I thought you loved me?” His tone was teasing, but I knew the truth.
I didn’t hesitate. I went in for the kiss, our lips crashing together. My world narrowed to the feel of his soft hand in mine, the press of his mouth against me—hot, insistent, perfect. I melted into him, the rest of the dingy establishment fading away as I savored the moment, and the connection that dared to defy everything else.
Our kiss was fleeting. The clatter of dishes and the smell of cooked meat broke through our haze as the waiter set down plates piled high with food that looked like it belonged on a workman’s lunch break.
