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“You care too much,” he adds.
“Because I’m sitting here with a shirtless murderer in a diner as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Of course, I care,” I reply.
“Shhh …” he says, and he reaches for his pocket. The one with the gun. “Don’t make a scene.”
Right. Because I’m still under his watchful eye and still being held captive whether I like it or not. I almost forgot.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. You just want to show off,” I say.
“No, I’m just hungry and so are you,” he says, right as Miss Puckered Cigarette Mouth comes back with the pies.
“There you go, honey!” she says, still only looking at him.
“Thanks,” he says as we both grab our forks.
“Hope you enjoy,” she says, hovering as if she’s waiting for a compliment or something. It makes me want to stab her eyes out with this fork I’m holding in my hand.
“I’m sure we will,” he says, casually hinting for her to fuck off.
Good. I want her gone. I don’t like it when people actually like him. As if he’s a likeable human being with likeable abs and a likeable smile. He’s anything but likeable, but they don’t know that. They only see the charm and the fake mask he puts on. They don’t know all the evil he’s done. They don’t know how badly he’s been on my nerves ever since we’ve been stuck together.
And it’s only gonna get worse from now. I’m sure of it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dixie
“Eat your pie, Dixie,” Brandon says, munching away at his.
Frowning, I stare at the plate in front of me. I am hungry, but I don’t wanna admit that in front of him. I don’t want anything that was paid for by him.
Then again, it was kinda sweet.
I shake my head.
I gotta stop thinking about him that way. He’s not fucking sweet, and he’ll never be. Not even when he thinks about me being hungry.
Brandon stops eating for a second. “Well?” His brow rises. “I know you’re hungry.”
Why does that sound like a threat when he says it? It’s almost as if he’s pointing a gun at me.
“Not when I’m under fire,” I reply.
“You’re not.” He tsks. “I won’t shoot you while you’re eating. Relax.”
Gee, that really makes things easier. Not.
“I’m not stopping again for a long time, Dixie, so you better eat while you can.”
Now that definitely is a threat. I’m tempted to chuck the plate at his face and make a run for it, but that wouldn’t do me any good. I’d get nowhere out here since he’s the one with the car keys. And I’m sure he wouldn’t give a shit if I made a scene because that’s just the person he is. Obsessed with me to the bone.
God, he was right. Us meeting was the biggest mistake of both our lives.
“I’m not saying it again, Dixie,” he warns. “Eat.”
Reluctantly, I scoop up a bit of pie with my fork and stuff it in my mouth, smiling like an idiot afterward. “Happy now?”
He keeps looking at me with those sultry eyes that are undecidedly sly. As if he’s unsure whether to reply or keep his mouth shut.
However, the piece of pie immediately makes me forget about his rambling and assholery. It tastes so damn good that it feels as if it lights my body on fire. Like I’m in fucking pie nirvana.
“Good, huh?” he muses, taking another bite.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. Unfortunately, it’s probably written all over my face. I can tell from the stupid smirk he gives me. Goddammit.
I can’t even concentrate on eating my pie because half of the diner’s guests are still glaring at the shirtless man sitting across from me, whose perfectly chiseled body attracts plenty of attention. I glare back at them in an attempt to stop them from looking at us.
Brandon laughs. “Ignore them.”
“I can’t. I feel watched.”
“They’re not looking at you,” he says smugly.
“I really wanna kill you right now,” I reply, which brings an unwanted smile to his face.
“Like you could,” he responds.
I secretly shoot daggers with my eyes. I contemplate throwing my fork at him, but that probably wouldn’t do much damage. Instead, I pick up a piece of pie and chuck it at him. It lands right on his chest. His nipple, to be exact. And for some reason, the image of licking it off flashes through my head. I instantly will it away.
“Asshole,” I say.
“Dixie …” He wipes the pie off his chest with just one finger and licks it up himself, sucking on his finger as if he’s trying to make me jealous or something. “You’re wasting good food.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and I scoot it toward him. “I’ve had enough.”
“That’s a lie, and you and I both know it,” he says, and he tries to scoot it back. “Now eat your goddamn pie like a good girl.”
