“Here is…one of everything,” the waitress says, dropping down the first plate.
We end up having to slide a second table over to fit all of the dishes.
When she’s done, she stands back and regards the feast. “Did y’all want anything to drink?”
“Chocolate milkshake, please,” I blurt. “And a coke. And a hot chocolate. And a water. And a glass of milk. And a?—”
“Four chocolate shakes for the table, please,” Krystian interjects smoothly. When I stare at him, betrayed, he says, “Too much sweetness will make you sick, love.”
“All right,” Darla agrees with a nod. “Anything else I can get for you?”
The last is directed at me, punctuated by a flutter of her lashes.
“Do you have any popcorn?” I smile widely at her, and she blinks, seemingly dazed.
“Umm…”
“Of course they don’t have fucking popcorn,” Everett snaps, reaching for a burger.
“We’ll get you popcorn after dinner,” Zaid reassures me.
If I were closer, I would totally kiss him.
The waitress leaves, and the guys divvy up the meals while Everett wraps his hand in a cloth napkin, though the bleeding has already stopped and the wound has started to heal.
Rafael slides a plate in front of me, then he adds a variety of items onto it—tiny slices of chicken, what appears to be a fried dish, a pancake, some pasta, half of a sandwich, and a salad.
“For you,” he tells me gruffly, and my heart soars, a trill of sensation lighting along my spine.
“You don’t have to eat it all,” Zaid says. “If you don’t like something, you can just leave it.”
“One of us will eat it if you don’t,” Krystian adds.
I nod, though the food in front of me already consumes my attention. I have no idea where to even start.
Krystian, noticing my dilemma, waves his fork at the pancake.
“Start there. That’ll be your breakfast. Then move on to the cheese curds, sandwich, and salad. That’ll be your lunch. End with the pasta and chicken to represent dinner.”
I beam at him. “You’re not just a pretty face, you know that?”
“Oh, I totally am just a pretty face.” He winks and leans in even closer until I can feel his breath against my cheek. Shivers ripple down my spine at his proximity. “But I have other talents as well.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I shift slightly on the seat—desperate to alleviate the ache between my legs—andthen cut into the pancake. Just before I can take a bite, however, Everett leans across the table.
At first, I think the bastard is trying to steal my food, and I contemplate stabbing him like Rafe did, but he merely pours a strange brown liquid over the pancake.
At my look of disbelief, he grumbles, “Syrup makes it taste better.”
Oh.
Hesitantly, I bring the bite to my lips. It certainly smells incredible—now even more so with the syrup on it.
I realize all of the guys are watching me, their food forgotten in front of them.
“Go on,” Krystian encourages.
At my hesitant look, Zaid nods once, a smile tipping up his lips. “Trust us.”
