“Mon … tana, stop.” I stabbed my hand into my rib.
He popped a leaf in his mouth.
“Hey,I’mhungry.” I gasped. “I’ll wilt more than that salad if you—hey!”
He finished my food in one wolfish bite. “You ain’t eating that.” He swallowed like he’d downed cod liver oil with spoiled milk.
“Why?” My voice went all high and sugary. Hopefully, it didn’t scream,I love you, marry me, and protect my baby and me for the rest of our lives.
Because he’d protected me and gotten stabbed with the knife thatIapparently brought to an ass-whooping party.
“Tasted bitter. I like you the way you are. Sweet. Fierce. Full of life.” His eyes darkened a little.
The air shifted. No more clowning over overpriced food. His gaze locked on mine. Cameras flashed through the window, but neither of us broke eye contact.
“Montana—”
“And slowly opening up for me, Zuri.”
That landed. Hard. The seriousness in his tone had my skin tingle with need. Which left me in one position.
I rolled my eyes to cover how wide open I was.Miss Virginia, pray for me. I can’t meet him at my level. His level entices me to my knees.
Later, at his place, Montana handed me a Dodger hoodie that matched his. With daylight savings, we passed on the aviators. Montana opened the passenger door to his Bugatti. I stepped inside. He squatted, took my strappy stiletto in his hand. Since this dress was growing on me, I’d kept it on and tugged the hoodie over my head.
“What are you doing?” I purred the question while he massaged my foot. Also, partially relieved I’d escaped that mansion again. So many rooms. So many opportunities to become Black Julia Roberts. One of the many bathrooms held a similar, modernized oversized tub.
He tugged his Dodger cap lower, and the air nearly snatched from my lungs as I glanced into those deep-set eyes. “Tonight, I’m Big Country.”
“I don’t prefer Big …” I could hardly get the words out because he’d unhooked the strap and kneaded the arch of my foot. “Country. Too … um … sarcastic.”
“You do.”
His thumb attacked that spot. The inner arch, while his other hand rolled my foot, lengthening my ankle so deliciously. “I don’t.”
“Too bad. You can’t see the real LA in a 3X wig.”
Okay, prime example of why I hated Big Country. He commented on the size of my head. Had even said, “Damn, Gina,”once after Darius and Imoved in. Can’t think of another word for a temporary stay, but he’d called me that while we watched a movie in the theater room. So rude. I whimpered. “No.Youjust boughtthiswig. Mine wasn’t human hair. Put some respect on Di … ahem.” I coughed to cover the fact that I almost mentioned Diana Ross.
“The wig goes.” He stuffed my toe into his mouth.
“M’kay.” I sighed, eyes heavy as I sank into the seat. “Where are we going?”
He kissed my big toe, then pushed the hoodie back and slid the new wig from my head, tossing it into the back of the car. Diana Redux landed with a soft flop. Was it big enough to cover all three seats? Didn’t know. Didn’t care. My eyes never left him. Just hoped I remembered to tug the hoodie up once we left.
“Can’t have you lose this shape. Gotta feed you,bébé.”
The way his lips shaped the words, I waited—ached—for them to fall over mine, like they had at HC&PP. The memory rushed in, the warmth of his mouth, the promise … So did the rest. Those boys. That danger. My pulse kicked. Anxiety overpowered desire, all jagged and uneven.
As if he realized my thoughts had scrambled, Montana’s hand came down in a casual pat against my thigh before he kissed my toes again, putting my heels on. He stood, stepped back, and shut the door behind him.
The next hour passed in a blur. We ate too much. Pinks Hot Dogs—even though we were supposed to share one because I had my phone out searching social media for the best spots. Funny how we thought alike. He’d ignored my suggestions about one Jamaican spot before we ended up at another. Underrated. Best jerk chicken of my life. I didn’t lick my fingers, even though all ten begged me to. I had to keep telling myself not to come out of the hoodie that covered much of my face. That food was spicy good! And Montana was giving me that look.
When we arrived at a comedy club, I was warm from the food, resituating Diana Redux. The way he claimed me between his arms. All his. All Big Country’s, I guess.
He took my hand, and we wove around tables beneath low lights. A small stage warned that comedians roasted everyone in the audience just for existing.Uh-oh. We needed to find a seat … farther back.
We approached a small table at the front. Two leather chairsfaced the stage.Reserved. Dang, the issues with dating—fake dating—a celebrity.
