Page 123 of The Vegas Lie

“I think they’re doing construction in the neighborhood. There was a lot of…drilling last night.”

He laughed, took her chin, and claimed her lips with a kiss that vibrated to the crevice between her thighs. Then, after swatting her on the butt, he continued to the coffee machine, and she watched him from the corner of her eye.

“Dark or light roast?” he asked, searching an upper cabinet.

She fetched spoons from a drawer. “Medium roast, half-caffeine.”

Raina E. Saraci

Nothing’s happening.

The song changed.

His head bobbed.

Raina E. Saraci

Wait. Wait, something’s happening.

“Milk, babe?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He poured sweetened condensed coconut milk into her mug, and she studied him in his zone, stirring her coffee and taking a sip before adding a touch more milk. He didn’t notice her watching him until he handed her the mug.

He smiled. “What?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

“I know Delilah put you up to this because I told her what kind of music I listen to.”

“You know this song?”

“Yep.”

“Prove it.”

Had it been a bet, she would have known she’d lost the minute his head cocked to the side and his brow rose to the heavens.

“‘It was a clear black night, a clear white moon, Warren G was on the streets, tryin’ to consume, some skirts for the eve, so I can get some funk, rollin’ in my ride, chillin’ all alone…’”

Suddenly possessed by the spirit of her younger sister, she covered her mouth and squeal-laughed. Burst out giggling. She was always accused of being the dramatic one, and shewasdramatic as hell, but Delilah had the more decibel-level emotional responses.

Grinning wide, she took a sip from her mug. “I won’t lie. That was sexy.”

“Warren G and Nate Dogg is a classic.” He started on his coffee. “Out of curiosity, what does my being Turkish mean to you?”

“When you said you grew up Muslim, I figured that maybe you were banned from listening to hip-hop,” she said. “My mother loves eighties and nineties music, from pop to R&B to hip-hop, but she wasn’t exposed to it until she moved here.”

She took their mugs while he carried the bowls of oatmeal to the dining table. He pulled out her chair and waited until she was situated before taking his seat.

“It’s the same with me, but I grew up inBaltimore,”he said. “My parents could have tried to block what I was exposed to, but they weren’t with me at school. I was ten when we moved here, and at ten, your peer influence far outweighs your parents’ influence.”

“So no metal or grunge music?”

He grimaced. “Not for me, no.”

“Fall Out Boy?”