“Do you?”
“Fine. I don’t have a car, but you’re still not driving me.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I huff.
He dips his chin and crosses his arms. “You’re going to have to give me a better reason thanbecause.”
I’m about to use magic to make him drop it and wait for me here when I decide to use compulsion later,afterhe drops me off. “Fine. I could use a ride.”
I head to my room to collect my gun from my bedroom safe, then hook a fanny pack across my torso and conceal the weapon inside.
As we take the elevator down to the garage, Cillian asks for the exact address so he can input it into his phone’s GPS. I give him the deli’s name.
His thumbs hover over his screen as his gaze snaps to mine. “We’re going to a fucking delicatessen?”
“Best tuna fish sandwiches in the whole of Boston, apparently.”
He lowers his phone. “If you wanted a tuna fish sandwich, I could’ve made that instead of sea bass.”
I smile. “Gael wants tuna fish.Iwant your sea bass.” I roll up onto my toes and peck his hard mouth before gasping, “Did you turn off the oven?”
“I did.” His teeth don’t separate around the words. “But I’m serious, Electra. If Gael wants a sandwich, I’ll gladly head to the supermarket right now and grab all the ingredients to make it.”
“Gael really wants one fromthere.”
Cillian’s jaw tics, evidently annoyed I won’t take him up on his offer. Does he consider it a slight to his obvious mastery of cooking?
The elevator dings.
It’s only once we reach the vehicle that he says, “Just checked ratings. The place has a one-star average. Customers report seeing rats.”
Since I’m not going for the food or ambience, I push magic into my eyes. “Stop fighting me on this and just drive me there.”
His lids spasm. His throat works. And then he’s obediently drawing my door wide and jamming the unlock button to unseal the rest of the doors. After he drops into his seat, he sticks his phone in the suction holder.
Cillian barely glances at the GPS during the drive. It’s like he’s got the map memorized. I’m guessing he has a photographic memory.
Unless… “Is it the neighborhood you grew up in? Is that why you look so irritated about my destination?”
“Does Gael not know how to use Uber Eats?”
I decide to drop the subject since nothing I can truthfully tell Cillian will dissolve his sulkiness.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of an eatery with a flickering neon sign that reads:Freddie’s Delicatessen.
“Never got e-coli, but I’ve heard it’s not fun,” Cillian grumbles.
I snort.
Before I can compel him to drive off, he’s unfolding his broad body from the Volvo.
“Wait,” I call out.
He snaps his door shut.
I scramble out. “Cillian, wait!”
