Page 26 of Vicious Temptation

I grin. “Not much anymore.”

“See, now I feel like you’re showing off.”

“You asked.”

“I did.” His gaze stays on mine. “So how’d you get into cars?”

The question catches me off guard because most people who ask why I work on cars make it sound like they can’t understand why I’d want to. There’s none of that in Thiago’s voice. He seems genuinely interested.

“I grew up around them. My dad always had something in the garage, and once I was old enough to understand what he was doing, I started following him around and getting in the way.”

“So he taught you?”

“He started it. I took it from there.”

“That explains a lot.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you don’t seem like someone who does anything halfway.”

I study him, unsure whether it’s an observation or a compliment. Maybe both. “You say that like you know me.”

“Not even close.”

My fingers remain curled around the ring.

“But I’m trying.”

There’s no arrogance behind the answer, no assumption that he already has me figured out. Sitting across from him like this, talking about cars and family and things that have nothing to do with why we met, I start to realize I’m trying too. I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to do with that.

My grip on the ring eases before I realize it.

“Chilaquiles and birria tacos.” JB appears beside the table with our food before I have to figure it out.

Perfect fucking timing.

He sets the chilaquiles in front of me and the tacos in front of Thiago, along with a small bowl of consommé.

“So do you always order the same thing?” Thiago asks. “Or have you tried a little bit of everything?”

“I grew up eating this food. Of course I’ve tried everything.” I point my fork at the plate in front of me. “But here? I ordered these the first time I came and never looked back.”

“You haven’t tried anything else on the menu?”

“Why would I if this is perfect? It’s like fixing something that isn’t broken.”

Thiago looks between our plates and nods. “Okay, but if they’re that good, why did you let me order something else?”

“I’m not your mother. You can make your own bad decisions.”

He laughs and picks up one of his tacos. “Maybe you should try one.”

“I don’t need to.”

I take my first bite and ignore him, but a few seconds later, half a taco appears over my plate. I look at it, then at him.

“I have my own food.”