I snorted at that and sat to wait at a tiny metal table. The place was empty, apart from us, and the smell of caramel and sugar in the air had my stomach growling. Maybe I should have gotten something, after all.
Selena soon appeared with a tray and put it on the table. She watched me take a sip of my black coffee. It was damn good. Not good enough to take away the hunger, but good, nonetheless.
“You don’t have an eating disorder, do you?” She eyed me suspiciously.
“Because I don’t feel like eating cake for breakfast?”
“A pastry isn’t a cake. If anything, a French croissant is like a high-fat breakfast. It’s practically keto approved.”
I chuckled. “Nice try, but not even close.”
She bit into her chocolate croissant, and it immediately scattered a million flakes of pastry over her. She didn’t seem to notice, while I itched to tidy it.
“You could tell me if you did. I could help you. Well, I don’t know if I could help; I couldn’t help Cici, but I have learned a lot about the subject since then?—”
“I don’t have an eating disorder,” I interrupted her.
She nodded, chewing quickly. There was a smear of chocolate by her mouth I longed to lick off.
“But that’s also what you’d say if you did, so… difficult to tell, really.” She looked me up and down. “I mean, I know you probably aren’t wanting compliments from me, but you don’t need to have two percent body fat to be hot, or to be a successful son and properly programmed CEO android.”
I nearly choked on my coffee at those words. I coughed and got it under control as Selena continued to eat, unbothered.
“Did you just call me hot? Did Hell freeze over?” I wondered, reaching out to wipe that smear of chocolate near her lips. I put my thumb to my mouth and sucked the mess off.
She watched intently, a pretty pink blush seeping into her cheeks.
“Very funny. We both know you’re hot. No point in denying it,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” She tore a chunk off her croissant and held it out to me.
I hesitated. I really didn’t feel hungry at this time in the morning, but there was something endearing about her trying to feed me.
“Come on, live a little, Sinclair. Life’s short and all that.”
I grabbed her wrist, and instead of taking the food out of her hand, lowered my mouth around the bite she was holding. Letting her hand go, I pulled back and chewed.
It was absolutely delicious, she was right, and not as sweet as I’d expected it to be.
I chewed and watched her as she ate. There was something downright carnal about the way she bit into the éclair, white crème spilling out of the sides.
I stood.
“What’s wrong?” She wiped the corner of her lip with her thumb.
“Come outside with me for a second. Finish your breakfast after.” I held my hand out to her.
“Come outside why?” she asked slowly.
I just stared at her, knowing the lust I felt coursing through my veins was plain as day in my eyes.
She swallowed, her delicate throat bobbing with the movement.
“Come on, cheer captain,” I leaned down and spoke in her ear. “Live a little.”
She pushed the chair back, the scrape loud against the quiet French music playing in the background.
I smiled victoriously and tugged her hand.
“We’ll be right back!” she called to the girl behind the counter, who was engrossed on her phone and ignoring us.
