He doesn’t look like he knows how to respond to that.
Fine by me.
Unrolling the silverware I snagged from a passing server, I place the paper napkin in my lap and grip the utensils in my hands.
“Please tell me you’re not about to eat wings with a knife and fork…”
I try to ignore the way my cheeks heat. Iknowthis isn’t how people eat wings, but I have a better chance of sprouting my own wings than I do ignoring the manners that were instilled in me.
“What’s wrong with that?” I challenge, stabbing my fork into one of the wings and delicately placing it on my plate.
“What’swrongwith—? Scarlett, I’m pretty sure there’s a commandment about this.”
I laugh despite myself. “Don’t judge me just because I like to keep my hands clean when I eat.”
“They’re wings. It’s pretty much a rule that you have to get your hands dirty. Face, too, if we’re being honest.”
Without any hesitation, I dip a finger in the ranch that came with the wings and swipe it across Nico’s cheek. “There, we’ve covered the dirty part.”
His expression goes from shocked to heated in half a second.
“The fuck we have,” he growls. Then he’s grabbing my finger and sucking it into his mouth.
A tingle ripples through my body, and I squirm in my seat, unable to take my eyes off him. “Do you—” I clear my throat and try again. “Are we walking back to the hotel after this?”
He stares at me in a way that makes me think he knows exactly why I’m asking.
“Yes,” he says carefully. “But not yet. Eat your wings first.”
“Bossy,” I grumble.
“Hey, you’re the one with the habit of ordering me around.”
I shrug, looking down at my plate. “And you’re the one who listens and pays me for it.”
I can feel him studying me again, but I’m not sure if it’s because of my comment or the way I’m reaching for my knife and fork again.
“Here,” he finally says, grabbing a wing with his hands. “If we take the finger-dirtying aspect out of it, will you eat it?” And then he holds it in front of my mouth.
My eyes lock on his. I shouldn’t. I wasn’t raised like this. And what if I get grease or something on my face?No man wants to see that.
Maybe it’s the sound of mother’s voice that makes me open my mouth. Or maybe it’s just Nico’s presence.
Either way, with my eyes still on his, I lean forward and take a bite of the wing, gently ripping the meat off the bone.
He seems weirdly thrilled. “Atta girl,” he says with a grin.
Flavor explodes on my tongue. Even without sauce, the wing is delicious, so much better than the barely seasoned chicken breasts I typically make for myself.
I cover my mouth with my napkin as I chew so that as soon as I’ve swallowed, I can say, “That’s delicious.”
“See? I know my bar food. Now eat up, I might order another batch.”
But suddenly, I’m not as interested in food.
Holding Nico’s eyes, I place my hand on his thigh under the table and slide it up the slightest bit. “Are you ready to leave soon?” I ask in a silky voice. “I’m kind of dying to get you back to the hotel.”
I see the flash of desire in his eyes, confirmation that I’m still in control here. Thank God.
