The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,58

few wallets and pawned some valuable watches in anticipation of this night.

We were fashionably late, but luckily, we were shown to our table without anyone having to shit their pants first. I slid into the booth, and as usual, Wren followed me, sitting close enough for our thighs to touch. It was no wonder we had a hard time convincing strangers that we were friends and nothing more. I’d need his hands and mine to count how many times we were told what a lovely couple we made.

“My name is Derek, and I’ll be serving you tonight.” The waiter recited the specials and raved about their best wine—even though neither of us was old enough to drink—before asking what we wanted.

Like always, I ordered for us both while Wren checked his messages. “Two Pepsis and mozzarella sticks for the table please.”

“Is Coke okay?”

My smile immediately fell. “If I wanted watered-down Pepsi, it would be,” I grumbled.

Wren looked up from his phone with a smug expression. “You’re just mad because no one ever asks how Pepsi is doing.”

“I know a guy who was a Coke salesman,” I bullshitted. “He quit his job because it lost its fizz.”

“Pepsi is kind of like a hand job,” Wren mused. “Never my first choice, but I’ll take it anyway.”

In perfect sync, we regarded the waiter with blank expressions, and after stuttering in confusion, he hurried away to fill our order.

“And a glass of water!” Wren shouted after him.

I made a mental note to double the poor guy’s tip. Grinning at each other, we both ignored the dirty looks we received and perused the menu.

Wren was a creature of habit. He’d order his usual medium rare steak with fries while I attempted to wow myself with a spontaneous choice.

Just as I predicted, he took a quick scan of his menu before setting it aside. The waiter returned with our drinks, and Wren immediately took a sip of his to test for flatness. I didn’t like the ache I got in my belly from watching him do such a simple act, so I quickly grappled for a diversion.

“Do you think if I eat enough oysters, I’ll eventually shit pearls?”

My question had the desired effect when he choked on what might as well have been diet cola. The moment he regained his composure, he looked at me with crazy eyes.

“Well…do you?” I prodded. The longer he stared at me, the harder it got to keep a straight face, but somehow, I managed.

Never taking his gaze away, he snatched up one of the carefully folded napkins and dried his mouth. A giggle escaped me, and in the blink of an eye, Wren went from looking angry to pleased. And almost a little excited.

Amusement gave way to confusion, and then he was whispering in my ear, “I almost forgot about the spanking I promised. Thanks for reminding me.”

After I’d shed my clothes for all to see on Coney Island Beach and Wren pulled me from the water, he told me ever so bitingly that I needed to spend some time over his knee. My heart began beating faster as my mind raced, but I forced myself to appear unbothered even as my deepest fantasy manifested.

“I recall it sounding more like a threat.”

“Then consider it a promise now.”

“And I told you,” I said, my voice like sharp steel, “you’re not my father.” That wasn’t exactly true, though. Wren was my father, brother, and best friend rolled into one, and I still wanted more.

Thankfully, our waiter returned with our appetizer before Wren could deliver the retort I saw burning in his gaze.

“Are we ready to order?” the waiter haltingly queried. I guessed he’d noticed the tension or maybe we weren’t as funny earlier as we’d thought.

Wren ordered his steak, and I thought it best for everyone that I didn’t get the oysters, so I ordered the lobster. As the waiter took down our orders, my mind turned over the implications of our conversation. I didn’t expect him to follow through with his threat, but what did it mean that he’d made it in the first place?

I was holding my breath in anticipation of being alone and picking up where we’d left off, but when the waiter finally left, Wren simply said, “We should eat these before they get cold.”

I stared at the platter of untouched mozzarella sticks while Wren unwrapped his flowers and casually dunked them in the glass of water.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d chosen to pretend nothing had