Hate You Still by Lyssa Lemire
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EMMA
I bring a napkin up to cover my mouth, absolutely cracking up despite my mouthful of mozzarella stick.
“Hold on, stop right there,” I mumble through the gooey cheese. I try to control my spasms of laughter long enough to chew my food and swallow it without choking.
Finally, my mouth is clear, and I take a sip of my Coke.
“Like I was saying,” Knox continues. “I had to respond with something so intimidating that you wouldn’t dare try and retaliate.”
I shake my head, still thinking that he has to be making this up. “A donkey?”
He shrugs. “It seemed like a good middle ground. Something like a pig would be too run of the mill. Something like a lion would be too extreme.”
“A lion?” I gasp. “You were considering putting a lion in my apartment?”
“It was just a thought,” he says, smiling. “But, no, I settled on the donkey.”
I mockingly wipe sweat off my brow. “Oh, well, that’s a relief. Only a donkey.”
“Hey, they’re gentle creatures,” he says, shoving a mozzarella stick into his mouth and chewing it quickly. He’s like a garbage disposal with food. I guess his body needs a lot of fuel, as massive and hulking as it is. “Dirty creatures, though,” he continues. “I figured it would give you about as much to clean up as you gave us.”
I wag my finger in his face. “Hey, you deserved what Katie and I gave you.”
He nods his head like he’s accepting my accusation in spite of himself. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
I take a bite of another mozzarella stick. God is it good. “Well, I’m glad that poor donkey was able to escape your machinations.”
I still can’t believe this story. But, I guess, compared to some of the other things he could have gotten arrested and sentenced to community service for, it was a relatively harmless scheme.
“It didn’t strike you as a little bit extreme when you were coming up with this plot?” I ask.
“A little bit,” he smirks. “But, like I said, I had to go shock and awe. Wanted you to see that you were outmatched in the game of pranks, so you wouldn’t try to up the ante again.”
I shake my head. “Well, no offense, but I’m glad you failed.”
“So am I,” he surprises me by saying. He rests his open palm on the back of my hand. Again, I have to bring the napkin up to my lips, because the shock of feeling his palm makes my cheese and grease stuffed mouth hang open – not exactly the kind of look conducive to romantic ambiance. “It’s because I got caught, and everything that happened afterward, that we’re here now.”
We finish our mozzarella sticks and split a pizza. Well, split isn’t the word. I have two and a half slices before I’m stuffed. Knox gladly and easily scarfs down the rest.
“Gotta fuel this machine somehow,” he jokes, noticing me gawking at him in disbelief as he demolishes the last slice in record time. He lifts up his right arm and flexes it. I know he does it as a joke, but my eyes almost fall out of their sockets as the hulking boulder that is his muscle enlarges to an unbelievably size as he strains his arm.
After seeing that, I’m starving, alright. But not for food. For him.
He must notice that glint of hunger in my eye, because he quickly calls for the waitress and pays the bill. I’m feeling frisky as we walk out of the restaurant and onto the street.
“Can’t wait to get home,” I whisper in his ear, and dare to reach my hand out to graze his firm ass through his jeans.
A low roar comes from his mouth as my hand passes across his backside. I yelp as he scoops me up in his arms.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he growls as I laugh giddily, suspended in his arms, feeling weightless and secure.
And then, holding me in his arms effortlessly, as if I weighted no more than a feather, he jogs the three blocks back to his house. His eyes are feasting on my body the whole time.