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The minute Cara and I met, I knew she needed me to watch out for her.
She’s like a frail piece of beautiful crystal. Someone could come right on up to her and make a crack, shattering her innocence to smithereens. She’s too damn good for that to happen. People like Cara, who don’t have a mean bone in their body, are few and far between—a precious commodity this city is running low on. Someone needs to champion and stand guard over these pure souls, otherwise the world will swallow them whole, and all that will be left is rot and despair.
And what a fucking shithole that would be.
Hence why Cara is the only person I truly trust aside from my family. The unlikely bond between Hell’s Kitchen hood rat and The Upper East side virgin princess has only grown stronger over the years, and to this day, she’s the best friend a girl like me could ever have.
Having said that, it doesn’t mean I don’t keep a few secrets from her.
For example, I have no intention of telling her what I’ve been up to all night. Cara would shit a brick if she knew I was trying to seduce a man who’s older than me. And if she knew it was Gray, the guy she knows my dad told me to stay clear of, I would bet my left titty that she would run to Layla and Alaric and sing like a canary, thinking she was doing me a favor.
Nope.
Nuh-uh.
Not going to let anyone ruin my fun until I have some worth spoiling.
My mind is still on Cara when I realize that Gray has already parked his car in front of what looks to be a long silver trailer of sorts, very reminiscent of the fifties. It’s cute and so out of place that I immediately love it. I quickly unclasp my seat belt and jump out of the car, excited that he brought me to a laid-back diner instead of a swanky bar.
When he opens the door and waits for me to pass, my lady bits clap at his attempt at being a gentleman. One look at Gray and you know he doesn’t have that in him, so for him to purposely try his hand at being chivalrous for me merits a reward. I stop right beside him, his arm still occupied with holding the door out for me, and go to the tips of my toes so I’m tall enough to act like I’m going to kiss his cheek. Of course I make sure that my calculations are off and kiss the edge of his lips instead.
“Thank you,” I whisper as the soles of my feet fall back on solid ground.
“Get inside,” he growls menacingly, but I’m not scared, not when his other hand went straight to the small of my back after such a kiss. I don’t say anything and just let him gently guide me to our booth, his hand burning through my clothes. He could guide me to hell and back as long as he kept his hand right where it is, and I wouldn’t say a peep otherwise.
All too soon, we get to our table, where Gray prefers to sit opposite me in the booth where his hands won’t be tempted to roam all over my body like I want them to.
A bubbly waitress in a vintage red polka-dot dress and Doris Day hairdo takes our order of burgers, fries, and vanilla milkshakes, and in less than ten minutes flat, she brings all that goodness to our table. With my stomach growling at the sight of such deliciousness, I dig in with gusto, not bothering to wait for Gray.
“I thought it was a lie,” Gray mutters, his food still untouched as he watches me devour mine.
“What was?” I ask absentmindedly, eyeing his fries. “Are you going to eat those?”
He shakes his head and pushes his plate of fries toward me, and then surprises me further when I see his upper lip lift somewhat, almost resembling a smile.
“Hell must have frozen over, because I think you might have just smiled at me,” I tease, waving a fry in his face before cutting it in half with my teeth.
His lips thin, and he looks like his expressionless self again, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
He smiled.
At me.
Gotcha, Gray.
Not wanting to celebrate my victory yet, I lower my gaze from his and seductively place a straw in the center of my lips before looking up at him.
“What did you think I was lying about?” I ask him, making my voice sound like smooth silk, before wrapping my lips around the white straw and beginning to suck. I try not to grin when I see his hands clutch the table’s edge.
“When you said you were hungry back in Hell’s Kitchen. I thought you were lying.”
“I don’t lie,” I state evenly, to which he arches a brow, calling me on my shit. “Omitting some truths isn’t the same thing as lying.”
“It is to me,” he retorts.
“Well, if you had Alaric as your dad, you’d be inclined to think differently.”
“A lie is a lie, even by omission,” he deadpans.
