Mister Moneybags(14)

“I’ll take the goat.”

Jelani smiled. He rang me up and slipped my purchase into a small brown bag. Handing it to me he said, “Watch out for the billy goats—their horns are strong enough to impale you if you cross them.”

Great. Just f*cking great.





Caroline was not a happy camper that I’d cancelled our date to the banquet. I’d told her I wasn’t feeling well, probably the first time I’d ever used the sick card in my life. But being here with Bianca was worth it.

She was wearing a fitted, brown dress that exposed one shoulder. The color brought out the caramel in her eyes and complemented her raven-colored hair. She was a dark beauty.

Of course, while Dex knew the answer from earlier conversations, Jay had to ask, “What nationality are you?”

“One-hundred percent Greek. You?”

“My mother is Italian and French. My father is English.”

It was difficult not to stare at her from across the table. I couldn’t even concentrate on the menu, which featured a bunch of stuff I didn’t recognize anyway.

I’d picked Bianca up in a car I’d rented just for Jay. I figured him for a Jeep kind of guy. I had to really stop and think about what to wear, too. Dex would have probably worn a custom-tailored Armani dress shirt. Jay was more casual. I’d settled on a basic black Polo and dark jeans.

Looking around the table, I said, “I think they forgot to give us silverware.”

“No. You eat Ethiopian food with your hands.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

“You’ve never had it before?”

“Never.”

“Well, I love it, only had it a couple of times. I love trying new things.”

“I love how adventurous you seem to be.”

“When it comes to some things, yes.” She smiled.

“I can’t wait to find out more about those things, Georgy Girl.” I locked my feet around hers under the table. “I’ll let you order for us, since you know this food. What were you thinking of?”

“Wot.”

“What are we eating?” I clarified.

“Not what. Wot. That’s the answer for what we’re getting. Wot. It’s a mixture of meat, sauce and spices, like an aromatic stew. And there’s this bread called injera that you use to scoop the food up with. You’ll love it. You like spicy food?”

“I do.”

After we ordered, I got antsy to be closer to her. So, I moved to the other side of the table.

Her tone was playful. “What are you doing?”

“I’d prefer to sit next to you. Is that okay?”

“Yes. It’s more than okay.”

When I placed my hand around her wrist, she looked down at my Rolex.

Her eyes widened. “That’s a ten-thousand dollar watch. Does your bike messenger service do that well?”

It was twenty–thousand, actually.

Shit.

“We have good months. I reward myself sometimes.”

“Nothing wrong with that. People who don’t live in excess can really splurge and appreciate nice things once in a while.”

Right.

She continued, “Speaking of nice things…I didn’t see that you brought anything that you whittled for me.”

“Don’t worry. It’s in the glove compartment of my car. I didn’t want to press my luck in presenting it to you right off the bat.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing what you made.”

I rubbed my thumb along her hand. “I’m looking forward to what comes after.”

Our eyes locked. God, she was beautiful, and it took everything in me not to lean in and taste those plump lips.

The waitress came and interrupted our moment, placing a large oval dish in the middle of the table. It was an array of brown and orange-looking sauces with meats and vegetables. Pieces of thin bread were rolled up around the edges of the plate.

“You’re gonna have to show me how to eat this.”

“Well, we basically use the bread to scoop it up. I’ve read that it’s customary in the Ethiopian culture to feed each other, actually.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You gonna feed me?”

“If you want.”

I liked the idea of this.

Feed me now.

I’ll eat you later.

“I would love nothing more.”

She unraveled the bread with her delicate fingers before scooping out some of the mixture. She then rolled it and gently brought it into my mouth. I made sure to touch my tongue against her hand as she did it.

She fed me repeatedly, and I eagerly awaited each and every bite. It was sensual and intimate, and there wasn’t anything else in the world I would rather have been doing.

“Your turn to feed me,” she said.

As I attempted to repeat Bianca’s perfect feeding process, I managed to get some of the spicy sauce into the small wounds on my fingers.

“Ouch,” I groaned.

“Are you okay?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. “Yeah. I have a couple of cuts on my hand. The spices sting. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m sorry. How did you cut yourself?”

Well, this was one opportunity to actually tell the truth.