“Why do you have a bad taste in your mouth?” Matt asked.
She headed into the living room. “Smoked a cigar.” She stared at the TV for a while, checking the score and seeing the activity on the field.
“You were with the mob?” I asked, knowing she didn’t smoke regularly.
“Yeah.” She kept her eyes on the TV as she drank her beer. “Joe gave me some good information.”
Both of Dax’s eyebrows rose, and he set down his beer. “You know the mob? As in, the notorious Italian mob?”
Her eyes shifted to him on the couch, visibly shocked he was there. “Dax, what are you doing here?”
“I invited him over to watch the game,” I explained. “We ran into each other at a bar.”
“Oh.” She moved to his side of the couch. “I don’t know how I didn’t see you. I mean, you’re the sexiest guy in the room.”
“Whoa, excuse me?” Matt pointed at his chest.
“I’m hot too,” I argued.
She leaned down and let her knees sink into the couch as her arms hooked around his neck, her dress riding up a bit. She leaned in and kissed him, a short kiss that was still packed with heat. She pushed her palm against his chest and got to her feet before she adjusted her dress. Then she took a seat in the armchair, resting her beer on her thigh.
Dax’s gaze was glued to her, indifferent to the game. He grabbed his beer and took a drink, his eyes still on her, like nothing else mattered once she was in his line of sight. He looked at her legs, watched her drink her beer.
I was surprised Carson didn’t take the seat beside him, but that was just how she was. Affection was only lustful, and she didn’t like to share any other kind. Her heart had been permanently switched to the off position. I was hopeful Dax would get her back into the game, bringing her back from the dead, whether they ended up together or not. He could be her baby steps.
He didn’t seem to mind being an experiment.
When the ump called an out, Carson got to her feet and raised her arms like a bear. “What the fuck?” She moved to the TV and screamed at the guy on the field who couldn’t hear a word she said. “You’re a motherfucking piece of ass, you know that?” She fell back into the chair, shaking her head.
“I hope that’s not how you talk to the mob.” Dax continued to watch her.
“No.” Carson drank her beer. “They’re sweethearts.”
“The mob are sweethearts?” Dax asked incredulously.
She turned in her chair to look at him. “Well, not all of them, but the ones I know are…”
He still looked surprised, but there was a smile on his lips, like he couldn’t resist how comical the situation was. “Why were you hanging out with those guys?”
“They gave me what I needed to finish the article. So, I’m going to finish it tonight and submit that shit first thing in the morning.” She turned back in the armchair and looked at the TV again.
Now that she was in the apartment, she was the only thing he cared about. She was the only thing he stared at. His fingers were wrapped around his empty beer, and he didn’t get up to grab another, because the view was just too nice.
At the end of the game, Carson returned to the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”
“Why do you always ask me that?” I gathered the empty beer bottles and carried them to the recycling can. “I’m not the wife in this relationship.”
“Well, I can cook…but you know how that will turn out.” She opened the pantry and pulled out a box of mac and cheese.
I rolled my eyes.
Dax dropped his bottles in the recycling can. “Why don’t we go out?”
“Depends.” Carson was still in her dress, the black material squeezing her hourglass frame, her tiny waist, big tits, and her peach-like ass. Her curves weren’t the product of long sessions at the gym, but rather, running around and threatening people for information. “Where are we going to go? Because I’m kind of craving Chinese.”
“You always want Chinese,” Matt said as he rolled his eyes.
“What do you think?” Carson turned to Dax, one hand on her hip while her arm gripped the edge of the counter. She slipped off her heels, so now she was short in comparison to his tall height. She tilted her head, her hair shifting across her chest.
He looked down at her and said nothing, his eyes roaming over her face, staring at her lips, her cheeks, and then everything beneath that. He was never uncomfortable with his stare, was indifferent to the way he made her feel about it. Seconds passed before he answered. “Chinese is fine.”
“I win.” She turned to us, victorious.
“His vote doesn’t count,” I argued. “He only agreed because he’s sleeping with you.”
“Uh, no.” She held up her hand. “That man knows he’s gonna get laid no matter what he says.”
Dax grinned slightly and dropped his gaze.
“How about Italian?” I asked.
“Yuck.” She shook her head dramatically. “I was just in an Italian restaurant, and I associate it with cigar smoke.”
“Burgers?” Matt asked. “There’s a Mega Shake nearby.”
“How about this?” Dax looked at Carson. “We get Chinese. They get whatever they want.”
That meant they would eat alone together, which was something Carson avoided at all costs. She hadn’t let a man take her out for a meal in a year. She would only spend time with them in very specific settings. But her unease quickly vanished because she knew it was an absurd way to live, that she needed to move on. “Let’s do it.”
Eleven
Carson
With his elbows on the table and his body slightly shifted forward, Dax stared at me.
I held the menu in front of me, glancing up at his hard expression every few seconds. He was in a classic tee, showing off his tanned skin, the cords over his muscles, his innate sex appeal. “What are you getting?”
“Whatever you’re getting.”
I dropped the menu. “Well, I like spicy food. Like, really spicy food.”
“Same here.”
“You don’t understand, honey.” I held up my hand. “I can eat twenty peppers in a row and want more.”
A slight smile moved onto his lips, as if he were amused by my attitude. “I’m up for the challenge.”
“Alright. It’s your funeral.” I put the menus at the edge of the table.
“It just means I won’t be having pussy for dessert.”
My eyes widened at his statement.
He grinned as if he liked that reaction.
With all that hotness on his lips, he wouldn’t be able to go down on me, and he was soooo good at it. “Hold on.” I grabbed the menu again and searched for an alternative.
He chuckled. “Get what you want, sweetheart. I’ll get something else.”
“Oh, thank god.” I threw the menu back.
The waitress came over and we ordered. He got orange chicken, and I got the Sichuan hot chicken plate. The waters were placed in front of us, and now we were alone again. Only a couple people were in the restaurant, so it was pretty much just the two of us.