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“Um, I’ll see you around, Atlas?” Simon directs the question at me but doesn’t take his eyes off Rowan. Smart, because the moment he looks away, I’ve no doubt Rowan would pounce. He has that predatory demeanor about him that makes him seem like a tiger. A feral tiger.
“Sure. I’ll see you around.”
“No, she won’t,” Rowan conversationally corrects.Again.
I roll my eyes and Simon walks away. To his credit, he doesn’t run, so I’ve no idea if the encounter has left him rattled or not.
I move away from the entrance, letting through the flow of traffic once again. Rowan follows close behind me.
“I brought you breakfast.” He hands off the donuts first, the bag like an offering of peace, golden retriever puppy eyes in full effect.
“You can’t decide who I’m friends with, Rowan.” I stand my ground but–it seems–he does too.
“No, but I can decide who gets to fuck you. And that, that’s just for me, Little Bird.”
My body reacts all over to those words. I swallow hard at the idea of him wanting to fuck me so badly that he’s literally shooing other men away like a wild pigeon lady at the park.How the fuck has this become my life?
He lifts the bag at me once more with a sweet smile that doesn’t deter my glaring gaze.
I debate whether or not I should take his offering. Won’t this just make me even more beholden to him? In the end, my stomach growls loudly, and I say fuck it. He’s already bought me everything else; what’s one more thing?
I tear open the bag and peek inside.
“Oh my god, Rowan!” My hand slaps against his chest in my excitement. “You bought me conchas!”
“One of every flavor,” he confirms. “I know how much you like those.”
“Ilovethese. I would sell myfirst bornfor these, honestly.” I pull out the Mexican sweet bread and bite into it. Flecks of the topping crumble off with every bite, dusting along my fingers. “Here, have one.” I shove the bag back in his direction.
“I bought them for you, Little Bird.”
“Shut up and take a sweet bread, Rowan.”
His eyes flick to the ceiling, and he expels the longest sigh, like he’s asking the heavens what to do with me.
“I don’t share food with everybody, you know.”
“Oh, so I’m special?”
I shrug and keep eating until my mouth is dry, and he immediately hands me the iced coffee like he knows me inside and out.
Walking side by side with my stalker should feel weird, but I feel strangely at peace. While he does make me nervous, in a weird butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of way, I’m not feeling as much turmoil as I should. He barged into my life, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to shake him.
“I’ve never had one of those before.” He finally breaks the silence.
“What? A concha? Are you serious? Ohhh, now you’ve gotta try one.” I thrust the bag back in his direction, and he just stares down at it like he’s contemplating his entire life’s existence within a single piece of bread. “Come on, don’t be afraid to add flavor into your life.” My eyebrows give a little wiggle, and I chuckle.
The sound has him snapping his attention back up to me. The heat in his gaze flares like burning embers. He stares down at my mouth like he maybe wants to bottle the sound I just made or devour me whole, I’m not quite sure which.
I’m suddenly very aware of the crumbs clinging to the sides of my lips, of my face, of the way I probably still have bread stuck between my teeth.
Yet Rowan looks at me like he doesn’t give a fuck about all that, and I want to swoon where I stand.
Stalkers, who knew they could be romantic?
Rowan takes the sweet bread and brings it to his lips then. I suddenly realize how large his mouth is, and that does something to me. His bite is slow, like he wants to savor the taste. Bits of pink crumb flake off with that first bite, dropping down to his shirtfront.
I wait with bated breath as he chews, watch his throat bob up and down as he swallows.
