"You're. . .uh. . .” I swallowed again. “You’re glowing."
"Am I? Well. . .I just woke up like this." He flipped invisible long hair over his shoulder and did a turn. “Or maybe it’s the out-of-body, met-God-and-came-back orgasms I had last night and this morning.”
I widened my eyes.
The herb woman's knife paused mid-chop, parted her mouth in shock, and then resumed chopping with a few chuckles.
Oblivious, Zo drifted past me and reached for a dumpling off the tray. “In fact, I actually kept a stroke so good that I may have levitated two-inches off the bed—”
“Okay. I’ve got it—”
“It’s some of my best work.” He popped the dumpling in his mouth, groaned, and pointed at the assistant folding the dumplings. “Mmmm. You’re dangerous.”
“Alright. Let’s go. They’re trying to get everything ready.” I went over and gently pushed the tray farther down the counter.
He followed it and grabbed another. “This party is going to have the Dragon marrying you. Where would you two have the wedding? Tokyo or New York? Could you imagine them in your neighborhood?”
“My neighborhood is just fine—”
“The Claws doing surveillance while eating chopped cheese sandwiches. The Fangs would be posted up on the block looking lethal while somebody’s auntie asks them to move so she can sweep. Somebody trying to tax the Roar like,” Zo shifted to a deep voice and hunched his shoulders. “‘Eh, yo. I don’t know who the fuck you are but, you got to pay for parking or we’re jacking that car.’”
“Alright. That’s racist.”
“I’m half Italian. I can do that. I’m basically Black.”
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you’re not.”
The compact man with the tattooed forearms kept his eyes on his reduction but his jaw moved as he held back a laugh.
“Or would you have the wedding down South so your grandmother doesn’t have to get on the plane, since she hates flying?” Zo ate the other dumpling.
“So. . .no one is talking marriage at this time and. . .let’s go off to your villa. . .we should talk.”
He finished chewing. “You’re right. I have tons to tell you. The dick I gave last night was the sort of dick that fixes posture and improves credit scores.”
Chef Bunzo made a sound in the back of his throat that could have been clearing it or could have been a laugh he'd buried before it escaped.
“Would you come on?” I grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “This is a professional kitchen.”
“Not if you’re in it.” Zo shot his hand out as we passed the hors d'oeuvre tray and snatched another perfectly pleated dumpling without breaking stride. He popped the whole thing in his mouth and chewed. "So. I went up to help Satoshi clean off your grandmother’s miracle mixture yesterday."
We left the kitchen and headed down the hallway.
My guards had been posted outside the kitchen. As Zo and I walked, they followed.
"And listen. I don't care how many rashes and bumps that man has. I don't care how much he's scratching. You cannot hide the muscle and the sexiness of that body. You just can't. It's impossible."
I smiled.
"We’re in the bathroom and I tell him to take off his clothes, and I took off mine—"
“Hold up. You just took off your clothes?”
"I told him I was only doing it so I didn't get my clothes wet." Zo shrugged. "He went with it. Which told me he likes menbecause if that man didn't like men, he would have said ‘Get your naked ass out of my bathroom!’”
I chuckled.
“Satoshi is not subtle. He would've thrown me through the wall."
