He pressed down lightly on my fingers, guiding me in how to use them without talking.
He adjusted my fingers when I moved incorrectly, then helped me pick up a piece of chicken dripping with red juices.
He twisted my hand and his in my direction, then guided the chicken into my mouth.
I leaned forward so that the juices didn’t spill all over me, and groaned when the taste hit my tongue.
“So good,” I murmured around the bite of food.
He grunted in reply and let go of my hand.
“The trick is to use only those few fingers,” he said as he urged me to try it on my own.
I did, and when the chicken slipped each time I went to pick it up, he took the chopsticks from my hand, then wrapped my hand around his before showing me what he does with his fingers.
I inwardly clenched.
The scars on his hand felt textured and ridged in places. But his hand was so damn warm. And strong.
He wasn’t even intentionally doing anything to me, and I was dying inside.
Why did I want this man so much? What was it about him and his surly attitude and his bluntness that made me want him with every fiber of my being?
“Watch what I do with this finger.” He wiggled his finger as he went down for another bite of food.
This time he caught up one of the spicy beef chunks and brought it to his mouth.
I had to go onto my tiptoes to reach, causing him to laugh around the bite of beef.
He handed me the chopsticks back and said, “Now you try.”
I managed to get my own bite of chicken this time and squealed with excitement as I got it into my own mouth. “I did it!”
He flashed me a grin and ripped into the second set of chopsticks. “Now, try some rice.”
That didn’t go as well, and I did have to use my fork for the rice. But the chicken was my bitch, and I was able to eat nearly half the carton before I got way too full.
“I’m done,” I said as I pushed the box away, chopsticks still in the box. “I have zero room left.”
He took one last bite of his own meal before saying, “Can I try yours?”
I waved a hand at it and leaned back in the chair, my hands on my belly.
Absently, I slipped my shirt up to rub the smooth skin, slightly rounded from my meal.
I was one of those people who rarely ever had a flat stomach. Sometimes, if I fasted, and my bowels were working in a timely manner, I had the suggestion of almost flatness. But most of the time the tides were never in my favor.
When I was close to my period, I swelled and looked like I had a Buddha belly. When I ate too much. Buddha belly. When I ate something high in sodium. You guessed it. Belly.
And since I’d been eating nothing but bullshit, without a vegetable in sight, for the last week, I definitely had the belly.
“Are you purposefully pushing out?” he asked as he eyed me.
I grabbed my belly with both hands and shook it. “Nope.”
He snorted. “It’s cute. You look like one of those toddlers that’s all belly.”
I snorted and tugged my shirt down over my belly, which in turn pulled the low-cut top down a little lower than I intended.
