"After you eat."
I blinked at him. "What?"
"Lunch. You haven't eaten anything except an apple and a bag of chips this morning." He started walking toward the student union. "You need real food."
I stared at his back, then hurried to catch up. "How do you know what I ate this morning?" Better question was how did he know where we were going?
"I pay attention."
"That's creepy."
"That's my job." He held the door open for me, and I caught a whiff of his cologne. Something fresh and aromatic like fresh linen that made my mouth water. "Come on. There's a cafeteria on the second floor."
"I'm not hungry."
My stomach chose that exact moment to growl. Loudly.
Mikhail's mouth twitched. "Right. Not hungry."
I wanted to argue, but he was already heading for the stairs. And honestly, I was starving. The apple had been hours ago, and the chips had barely made a dent.
The cafeteria was busy with the lunch rush. Students clustered around tables, laughing and talking. The smell of pizza and french fries made my stomach clench with need.
Mikhail guided me to the line with a hand at the small of my back. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent heat racing up my spine.
"Get whatever you want," he said.
"I can pay for my own lunch."
"I know you can. But you're not going to."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already moving forward in line. Stubborn man.
I grabbed a sandwich and a salad, some fruit, and a bottle of water. Mikhail piled his tray with enough food to feed three people, including three slices of pizza, tater tots, a fruit bowl, a ham and cheese sandwich, chips, salad, and chocolate chip cookies. When we got to the register, he paid before I could even pull out my wallet.
"You're impossible," I muttered.
"You keep saying that too."
We found a table near the windows, away from the worst of the crowd. I sat down and unwrapped my sandwich, trying notto think about how domestic this felt. Like we were a couple and this is what we did often.
Nothing about this situation was normal.
Mikhail dug into his food with the kind of focus he brought to everything. I watched him for a moment, then looked away when he glanced up and caught me staring.
"So," I said, desperate for conversation that didn't involve me thinking about his hands. They were large, neatly manicured nails, and I desperately wanted to know if they were rough or smooth on his palm. "Do you do this for everyone Olek wants protected? Follow them around, buy them lunch, hover like an overprotective shadow?"
"No."
"Then why me?"
He set down his fork, studying me with those dark eyes. "You really want to know? Though I thought that I explained it."
Yes. No. Maybe. "Sure."
"Because you're under my skin, Shanice, and I don't know what to do about it." He said it so calmly, like he was commenting on the weather. My heart slammed against my ribs. "Because the thought of something happening to you makes me violent."
"Mikhail." I exhaled, unsure if I’d been breathing before.
