Page 68 of Devil's Thirst
“Yes, sir?” I say innocently.
“I need to ask you a few questions. Please step out of the car.” His tone is severe, and his piercing stare spears right through me.
The only thing keeping me from vomiting is knowing I’d never forgive myself for ruining Sante’s beautiful new car.
“Um … can you ask me from here?” I manage to hold my ground but in the meekest most uncertain voice possible. “I’m a dancer, and I’ve twisted my ankle.”
“Ma’am, are you refusing to cooperate?” he asks aggressively.
“No! I just…” I just what? I don’t know what to tell him, but every instinct in my body urges me not to step outside the car.
Tears pool in my eyes.
“Please, my ankle really hurts,” I say, not having to act when my chin quivers.
He leans forward like he’s going to reach into the car when a wall of black slides between us. Sante. He’s inserted himself between the cop and the car, slowly walking the officer away from me. His position prevents me from seeing what’s happening. I can hear the low murmur of his baritone voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
My eyes squeeze tightly shut.
Please, don’t end up in a fistfight with a cop.
That would put a serious damper on our evening. I’m debating whether I should step in to de-escalate the situation when Sante abruptly walks away from the man and gets back in the car, setting the bag of food on the floorboard behind me. He raises the passenger window, prompting me to look back at the cop. The man’s staring right at me, a vein bulging from his forehead with such force that steam might shoot from his ears any second.
“What did you say to him?” I ask as we pull into traffic.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” His unconcerned tone is reassuring, but I’m still anxious.
“Do you think he’s working for Talbot?”
“I think he targeted you for a reason that had nothing to do with the law. He followed us, saw me leave the car, and took his opportunity. I don’t give a fuck about his why.”
I guess he has a point. I hadn’t thought about the fact that if I’m with Sante, he brings a whole new set of dangers to the table because of his line of work. I’d only considered Sante’s dangerous side in regard to how he could help me. The flip side of that coin is important, too.
I spend the rest of the car ride home thinking about whether the risks associated with him change my feelings about our relationship. Oran has been in Lina’s life for years now and never endangered either of us. I wonder if Oran’s role in his Irish family business is at all similar to Sante’s part in the Morettiorganization. I’ve never seen Oran fight anyone ever, and I’ve already seen Sante draw blood twice. It’s something to consider.
We eat once we’re home. I’m quiet and somewhat contemplative but mostly just tired. Sante seems to understand and doesn’t push for conversation. I appreciate that we’re able to share a companionable silence without feeling awkward. When we’re done, I toss my Styrofoam in the trash and stretch.
“I’m going to hop in the shower.”
He stands and tosses his trash as well. “I’ll join you.”
I’m suddenly very,veryawake. He wants to shower with me. Is that a segue to shower sex? I think of the intense chemistry that lives in the air around us and can’t imagine sex not happening if we’re both naked and wet and oh my God so close together.
My nonchalant walk to the bathroom deserves an Academy Award, considering I’m freaking the fuck out on the inside. I start the water and get fresh towels from the cabinet. Sante follows me into the small space, making him seem that much larger.
Breathe, Mellie. You got this.
I decide now is actually a stellar time to brush my teeth. Anything to stall. Toothpaste on the brush, I freeze mid-motion when Sante tosses his shirt to the floor, finally giving me a first peek at his tattooed body. He’s sheer perfection, as I knew he would be. Whoever designs his artwork is incredibly gifted. The all-black designs flow together seamlessly, covering his chest, arms, and back, leaving only his abs unmarked. Abs sculpted in stone, sleek and smooth in a way that makes me want to trace my tongue along each dip and curve.
When his pants come off, he’s in nothing but boxer briefs, and he’s got a hard-on. The biggest, most terrifying hard-on I’ve ever seen in my life.
My wide eyes stare back at me in the mirror, making me realize I still haven’t brushed my teeth, and the toothpaste has fallen from my brush into the sink.
Mel, pull yourself together. Donotact like a total freak.
I start to wash the toothpaste down the drain, dropping my toothbrush in the process.
“You want to know what I told that cop?”