Something buzzes between us.
"Either you’re packing a vibrator or someone’s calling you."
"Option two."
He answers his phone, lifts it to his ear, and, with his other hand, keeps me pinned against the wall, holding me there like I might vanish if he doesn’t keep a grip.
I watch his eyes while he talks, and for no reason at all, I lick my lips. His fingers tighten on my shoulder, a silentdon’t you fucking start.
Yum.
I swallow hard.
"Yes. No problem. Yeah, she knows because my mother’s got a big mouth, so we need to get together soon. Of course, yeah. Bye."
He hangs up and looks at me. He shrugs, all nonchalant, but his hand is still on me. "Guess they’re not coming after all."
My stomach knots. I don’t know what to do with the swirl of conflicting feelings.
On one hand, I’m disappointed. I have a sister, and I wanted to meet her. Surely no one can be as bad as his mother?
On the other hand, I have exactly zero desire to see Rafail anytime soon, so yeah—relief.
And I’m still starving.
"I guess I have a little more time to get some clothes."
“Or not.”
My pussy throbs.
"And some food," he says. “I’m about five minutes away from throwing shit."
He pushes away from the wall, but his fingers lace through mine.
He’s holding my hand.
I’m not a hand-holder. I’m not a cuddler. But I like holdinghishand.
"Here," he says, handing me his phone. "Order what you want."
I take his phone in my right hand while he leads me down the hall.
"Anything I want? What if I want a pony?"
He grunts.
"A pink pony?"
"Guestrooms," he mutters, jerking his chin toward a few doors. "Bathroom. This one’s nice—it’s got a waterfall… thing. Whatever you call it."
He speaks with quiet pride. This is his house, one he crafted in some way for himself, one that’s all his—away from his parents’suffocating bullshit. Even if they’re still circling, waiting to pull him back under.
"And I really don’t give a fuck what you order. Just get me some food. Fast."
I pull up the app, scroll, and place an order for the greasiest takeout I can find. I throw in a side salad to appease my conscience.
I press the button. "Are you a big tipper?"
