He’s a head shorter than me. He fits under my chin perfectly. And I’m a dead man for how much I love it.
“Let’s go, shorty,” I say, slinging an arm around him. “I’m starving.”
***Eli***
At first, I was terrified Skip was going to take me to some fancy sit-down restaurant. The kind of place Ido notbelong in.
But instead, he drives us to a bar with the best wings this side of the Valley.
A place I’ve actually eaten at before. A place where nobody looks twice at a guy like me.
“I thought you wanted steak?” I ask as we wait for our food.
“Well,” he shrugs, leaning back in the booth, “on the way here, I remembered that Tank’s grilled steaks are the best that have ever existed. So why waste my taste buds on mediocre meat when I can get perfection whenever I want?”
I open my mouth to respond, but then he smirks that smirk of his.
“Well…” he adds, voice dropping like a stone into sinful territory, “thesecondbest meat.”
My stomach flips. My brain combusts.
“Second?” I croak.
He nods toward my lap. Not subtly. At all.
“My baby has the best meat,” he murmurs, eyes blazing. “By far.”
I swear my soul leaves my body.
“I know I keep repeating this,” I whisper, wide-eyed as I glance around to make sure nobody is listening, “But it bears repeating again. You are certifiably insane.”
He grins.
“And you’re very cute,” he says, like it’s a sin he enjoys committing. “Tell me something about yourself, Eli. Something I don’t know.”
“My favorite color is—”
“Teal,” he finishes without hesitation.
I blink. “Okay… my favorite food—”
“Chinese.” He smirks. “Specifically, the tiny family-owned place with the red lanterns. You also like romance movies, but only if nobody dies. You hate those granola bars you carry everywhere, you love to sing when you think no one’s listening, your dream holiday is some future Thanksgiving surrounded by a gigantic family, and you absolutely hate working at the garage.”
I stare at him like he just read my diary out loud.
“The girls,” I whisper, wide-eyed. “They interrogated me yesterday. You sneaky punk.”
“I promised them I’d talk Spike into adding a slide to the pool behind the clubhouse,” he shrugs. “Already got the all-clear. As soon as this mess with you-know-who is done, I’ll have it installed.”
I gape at him.
“That’s not really fair,” I pout. “I don’t know anything about you except that you’re bossy and always get what you want. I don’t even know your real name.”
“Easy,” he says, leaning in with that stupidly charming smile. “I was named Viktor Bryant. Only use it when I legally have to.”
“Why Skip?” I ask.
His smirk turns wicked, almost nostalgic.
