Page 10 of Don’t Say Mafia

He took another bite of his burrito. “I guess that’s why you look cranky.”

I stared at him. Then I looked down at myself. Then back at him.

“Seriously?” I snapped. “Nothing?”

He squinted at me as if he was trying to figure out what I meant, then followed my line of sight and shrugged. “Oh. That.”

That.

My jaw tightened. “You’ve seen my dick so many times it doesn’t even register anymore?”

He hummed thoughtfully, still chewing. “I mean. At this point it’s basically furniture.”

“This happens too much,” I said flatly. “If my dick doesn’t even get a reaction out of you, something in my life has gone deeply wrong. Or your life. You’re seeing too many dicks. Although my dick is so impressive, even that shouldn’t change your reaction.”

Maddox smirked. “Relax. It’s not personal. You could be naked or in a tux. It would have the same effect.”

“Zero?” I pressed.

“Negative, actually,” he said. “I’m unaware of it.”

I grabbed a pair of pants off the chair and shoved my legs into them, yanking them up with more force than necessary. “You’re supposed to be impressed. Or uncomfortable. Or at least pretend you’ve never seen it before. That’s how a normal person would react to my dick.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he called after me, the words muffled and misshapen around a mouthful of burrito. Bits of tortilla and egg were no doubt threatening to make a break for it as he chewed like he’d never learned basic manners.

I stalked into my kitchen, the one I’d paid an absurd amount of money to have designed exactly the way I wanted it, stainless steel and marble everywhere. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along one wall, the city laid out beneath them, and the counters ran wide and uninterrupted, big enough to host something impressive even if I rarely had anyone over to see it.

The fridge was stocked with meals that had been prepared for me because I’d learned a long time ago to focus on what I was good at. Cooking wasn’t one of those things.

I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and downed half of it in one go.

My stomach chose that moment to betray me with a low, unmistakable growl. I paused and scowled at the countertop as if it had something to do with this. Then I glanced back over my shoulder because I had just realized whose burrito Maddox was eating.

Mrs. Bentley’s. My friend’s housekeeper made burritos so good that we literally flew them in from Dallas.

And I had just run out yesterday. Either that or my housekeeper, Mrs. Nesbitt, had thrown the last one out . . . She did tend to get jealous of Mrs. Bentley.

“Tell me you have another one of those,” I growled, suddenly feeling kind of desperate.

Maddox stopped chewing, and his eyes narrowed before he sighed like a man carrying the weight of the world and very inconvenient friendships. “I knew this day would come,” he muttered.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to pull a second burrito out of there, right? When I asked if you had another one, I didn’t mean literally.”

He hesitated for exactly one second, clearly debating his life choices, before producing another foil-wrapped burrito with visible irritation.

“You’re welcome,” he said dryly, tossing it onto the counter. “A lesser friend might carry a pen. Maybe a spare charger or a gun. I, however, come prepared with breakfast.”

I snatched it off the counter in case he changed his mind and peeled back the foil. “I know you also have a gun in there, so what you just said doesn’t apply.”

He scoffed. “The gun is standard. The burrito is friendship. There’s a difference.”

I took a bite and hummed approvingly. “This tastes so good I’m not even mad anymore that you weren’t appropriately impressed by my dick.”

He shook his head and pulled out his phone, frowning as he read the screen. “One day I’m going to tell people this story, and I’m definitely going to mention how heroic I am,” he said distractedly.

I took another bite, finally feeling human again. “I’m sure you will,” I said around the mouthful. “Make sure you include the part where you risked your life transporting eggs and salsa in your pocket.”