Read Online We Were One Once Book 1 by Willow Madison - Free Book Online Page B

to eat in peace.” She leans in a little
more. I can smell her spiciness mixing with the sweet pancake smell
in here. It’s making me want to dip her in syrup. “So, if you don’t
mind, we’ll talk after I finish eating.” But she ends with a small
note of almost submission; her eyes drop down to her lap, voice
getting softer, “Okay?”
    I relax but stay sitting
next to her. “Sure. I was taught not to talk with my mouth full
anyway.” She smiles and turns back to her plate of pancakes. I
chuckle to myself seeing that they’re the chocolate chip ones with
whipped cream in the shape of a smiley face.
    She transforms again,
becoming completely focused on her plate. I have to stop myself
from staring. She mumbles something before picking up her
silverware. A prayer? You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s religious?
I didn’t see that coming. I haven’t seen any evidence of it before
now.
    She doesn’t take her eyes
off the plate, keeping her silverware firmly clutched in her fists.
The only time she lets go is after every third bite, and that’s to
take the glass of milk with both hands to her lips. It’s truly the
strangest thing to watch. A ritual is right. I hope to shit she
doesn’t eat every meal like this.
    When the glass of milk is
gone, she pushes the plate away and sets the silverware down
slowly. I have to stop from laughing again because the only part of
the pancakes not eaten is the smiley face covered piece. “You know,
you can order them without the whipped cream…”
    It takes her a second to
respond to me, like she was too deep in her own thoughts still.
“Oh. Yeah. Maybe next time.” As I pay the waitress, she looks down
at her jacket and rolls her eyes at a dribble of syrup on it,
mumbling, “Sloppy!” She dabs at it with a new napkin.
    “You were pretty focused
eating. I’m surprised anything could get away.” I laugh openly at
her this time.
    She glares at me, still
dabbing the spot. “What are you doing here? You don’t live around
here.”
    “No, but I met a client
nearby.” This is true. I’ve decided to put all new orders on hold
for the time being, but this is an old friend, so I wanted to tell
him in person. He wasn’t happy about it, but what choice does he
have really?
    Her eyes narrow more at me,
and she turns a little with that same aggressive cock to her head.
“I thought you were a trust fund brat, all play, no
work?”
    “I am. The work I do
is…more play…recreational.” I grin at how true this is. “And I
thought models lived on water and diet pills, not alcohol and
pancakes.”
    “High metabolism, I guess.”
She purses her lips into a sarcastic grin. I’d like to smack her
for it, but I settle on a mental list of behaviors to change. Top
one right now is making faces at me, maybe followed by the weird
eating habit. I’m still grinning, not letting her in on the joke
just yet. She’ll learn soon enough.
    “So this has been fun,
Trust, but I’ll need to change now before heading out…” She’s
trying to push me out of the booth. I slide over and put my hand
out to help her up again. She seems thrown by the simple gesture,
hesitating and staring at my fingers.
    My grandfather was a very
gentlemanly old man. I know when to be, how to be; I just don’t
choose to be very often is all. I find it useful at times, though,
especially when it’s unexpected. It can really throw a girl off her
game. It works on Grace.
    As she takes my hand, I
yank her firmly against my side. She tilts her head up, starts to
close her eyes, and opens her mouth for the kiss she’s already
expecting. The pancakes make her lips even sweeter and her level of
response, at least sexually, is good.
    I grab her waist in a
tighter grip with one arm and lead her towards the door. “Come on,
I’ll walk you out.” She moves next to me, same as before—a cat
strut, ready to pounce. I don’t let go and she just keeps walking
with me. I know we’re heading back towards her