He just charmed his way inside my favorite cupcake shop.
Of course I went inside. I was getting free cupcakes out of this.
Before I knew it, we were sitting at the table by the window with two coffees and a huge pink box filled with cupcakes in front of us.
“I hate you,” I told him around a bite of a sinfully good chocolate cake. “But I love these.”
He smiled. This smile wasn’t the kind filled with ego. It was a nice smile.
“Aren’t you going to eat one?” I asked him, setting it down and picking up my bright-pink cup filled with coffee. Somehow he managed to get his coffee in a plain white cup. I didn’t even know they had those here.
He shook his head. “I’ll leave the sugar consumption to you.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Maybe not,” he said, watching me. I swear his pupils dilated when I poked my tongue out to lick away some frosting from my lips.
I took another bite, purposely leaving frosting behind, and then used my tongue once again to get it.
His eyes narrowed. “Are you doing that on purpose?”
“What?” I asked innocently while inside I did a little happy dance. It thrilled me to no end to know he wasn’t as unaffected by me as I previously thought. I felt less horrified by the way my body reacted to him.
“What kind of game are you trying to play, love?” he asked, leaning over the table and lowering his voice. Desire spiked within me.
I swallowed, knowing if I tried to make some smart reply, I would only end up babbling or making a fool out of myself. I looked at him, telling myself there was a lot more to him than a pair of green eyes and a sexy body.
It worked.
I sat back in my chair and set down the treat. “Can I ask you something?”
His eyes widened a little when he realized I wasn’t going to be falling all over him like the girl behind the counter.
“What?” he asked warily.
“Is it hard?” I began. “You know… what you do?”
His face and eyes seemed to close up. That little peak of genuineness I saw in his smile earlier completely disappeared. “I’ve been doing my job for a very long time.”
“How long?” I asked, remembering the time he said he knew Marilyn Monroe.
“Ninety or so years.”
Surprise had me sitting up a little straighter. I hadn’t really expected him to answer and I sure as sugar didn’t expect that amount of time.
“Ninety years,” I whispered to myself. Then I looked back up at him. “So, that body… your body… that’s not yours?”
“It’s mine, has been for a while. But it wasn’t my first one.”
Wow. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up one day in a completely different body. Seems like it would be hard to know who you were.
I cleared my throat, wanting to get back to my original question. It was one of the thoughts that sent me here tonight, one of the thoughts that seemed to eat away at me.
“So is it?”
“Is it what?” he asked, picking up his coffee.
He knew what I was asking. Was he avoiding the question?
