Better to Eat You

by Savannah Skye

  “There were good parts and bad parts,” she suggests. “A little hard at times.”

  The emphasis she places on that one word forces my knee to jerk in response. “Every day has its ups and downs.” I shrug with apathy. “The older you get, the more you learn to deal with the downs, and the ups become all the more up.”

  “You’re so wise.” She leans against the table, drags her other palm to rest just under her chin. “How was your day, Professor?”

  “It was mostly full of downs,” I chuckle and shift one hand against my crotch, trying to force away my uncomfortable erection. I pride myself on being a smart man, but I’ve been known to do some awfully stupid shit at the request of my other head. “But like I just said, I’ve learned to compensate.”

  “Everyone’s always compensating for something these days,” she muses out loud and drops her hands into her lap as the waitress—Jane—approaches the table with notepad in hand.

  “The usual, Jack?”

  “You know me too well.”

  She directs her attention to Grace with an endearing smile—she’s always smiling, simply one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. “And what will you be having tonight?”

  “I actually haven’t had the chance to look at the menu yet.” Grace exhales and flips open her menu, the first time she’s even laid eyes on it since she’s arrived. “You know what? I’m not picky.” She points at me. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

  “Good choice.” Jane nods as she picks up the two menus off the table.

  Grace hooks her eyes to me. “You come here often?”

  “He’s always here.” Jane said with a chuckle. “And why not? He lives close enough.”

  I swallow a curse. Our date has only been going on for a cool three minutes, and we’re already at strike one. Grace isn’t supposed to know how close my bed is to where we’re sitting. It makes it that much harder to keep from trying to get her there and naked--something it seems we both want.

  Something that for sure cannot happen.

  Grace’s eyes go dark with speculation, and I can almost hear her thoughts, which are echoing my own. I’m not a superhero by any strict definition of the word, even if I spend my nights in the world of criminal intrigue. But I can read her like an open book.

  Yes, Grace. That’s right. We could walk up two flights of stairs and be fucking in less than a minute.

  I’m thinking it too. Been thinking it since we first made plans earlier in the afternoon.

  I clear my throat and push the thought away. “So tell me more about this project,” I say as Jane hustles away from the table to place our order, but food is the furthest thing from my damn mind.

  “Well, like I said before, I have to write this essay about someone I admire.” She twirls a finger in her hair—she has to know what she’s doing to me, nobody is that damn naïve. “It might be a lot to ask, but I’m going to need you to be an open book.”

  Warning bells go off, and that’s strike number fucking two. I haven’t been an open book since I was about seven and the request raises suspicion. I make a mental note to check out her class schedule and strike up a conversation with her writing professor to inquire the legitimacy of this paper.

  Grace flips open the notebook and clicks the end of a pen. “Let’s begin with where you were born.”

  “I was actually born here,” I say, lying through my teeth. If this girl thinks she’s going to get my real story, she’s got another thing coming. I don’t trust anybody, especially not a twenty year old who seems to be attempting to wield the power of pussy for the first time in her life. “Born and raised with no ambition or intention to ever leave.”

  “That’s fascinating,” she seems to purr as she scribbles into her notebook. “Most people seem to want to get as far away from home as possible when they reach a certain age.”

  “Yeah?” I question and cruise into detective mode myself. “And what about you? Where is home?”

  “In a little town about seventy miles away from here.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, levels the pen against her mouth.

  My cock is envious of that damn pen.

  “But my life is way boring, so let’s stick to your story for right now,” she continues with a quick grin. “Did you always want to be a professor?”

  “No,” I say. “Like any other boy, growing up I wanted to be a firefighter.” It’s another lie. The truth is that I’ve fulfilled my life-long fantasy of becoming somebody who kicks ass and takes names. “It wasn’t until I was actually out of undergrad that I first even thought about using what I’ve learned to assist the next generation in becoming who they’re meant to be.”

  She seems to drop the Marilyn Monroe façade for a split second as her eyes level with mine without the same weight or levity as before. “That’s so damn inspiring.” She leans across the table, showing actual interest in my story. “Some would say that you don’t look like the type.”

  “The type?” I cock a brow.

  “Yeah.” She forces herself back into her chair and taps the pen on the ledge of the table. “Some people would say that you look like another type, the type who gets in and out of the classroom as fast as possible. Good looking. Fit. The kind of guy who spends more time under the bleachers than in the classroom. In fact, the last time I was in your class, you bolted the second the clock ticked down to zero.”

  I tilt my head and offer her a slow smirk in spite of myself. “I had a cramp, remember?”

  “Right.” She tenses, cheeks flushing red. “How old are you, exactly?” she questions, eager to change the subject.

  “Thirty,” I say before adding, “and I’m changing the rules.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Any question you get to ask me, I get to ask in return so we can both get to know each other a little better. It’s only fair.”

  “That’s not the point—”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “What did you want to be growing up?”

  She pauses, taps her pen against the notebook. Then she relents. “I wanted to be a princess, but sometime around the sixth grade, I realized that wasn’t an actual salaried position.”

  “It could be if you found a wealthy enough man.”

  “I have other ambitions.”

  “Usually people who have ambition know exactly what they want and don’t change their majors seventy percent through their coursework.” I grimace slightly, realizing that I might be becoming a little too combative. She seems to notice too, cocking her head at me a certain way. But I just can’t stop myself because I’m genuinely curious. “Why did you change your major, anyway?”

  She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Wanted to become somebody else other than who I was set to become.”

  “That’s fair enough.” I nod and uncross my arms, but her answer shows a maturity and a thoughtfulness that I haven’t seen in her before. This is the student I’d seen on day one, before she’d grown the balls to actually try to seduce me…if that’s even what she’s doing now.

  “Can we get back to your childhood?” She laughs as she flips to the next page in her notebook. “Start from the beginning and go from there. Feel free to ramble on, it’s okay. Somehow in this modern world, I’ve managed to still be proficient with a pen and can jot down notes almost as fast as I can type.”

  “From the beginning?” I question with a sigh, running my palms against my jeans.

  For the next half hour or so, I drone on about the earliest parts of my childhood. I stuck close to the truth for all of that because it didn’t matter and it was easier to keep track of lies that way.

  We’ve made our way through our chicken paninis, pushed our plates to the edge of the table, and are on our second glasses of wine, which I was glad to find she was old enough to drink. It made me feel just a little less like a lecher for wanting to fuck her all the way into Tuesday, and a bastard for leading her on when I knew nothing could come of this.

  “My father was unr
eliable, a gambling man if you will. We would go from living in a trailer to living in a nice house, sometimes an extremely nice house, only to find ourselves homeless the day before Christmas because he’d gambled all of our money away. One year I got a puppy for my birthday, and then three weeks later, it was gone. My mother said he’d lost it in a poker game.”

  “That’s kind of sad,” she says softly, pausing her note-taking to search my face with those incredible eyes. “That must’ve been really hard. What was his name?”

  “My dad?” I ask.

  “Your puppy,” she murmurs, her hand sliding closer to mine on the table.

  The weight of her stare feels heavier than it should and I pick up my wine glass and drain it. I want to blow off her question but the answer pops out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Lego.”

  Her full lips tip into a sad little smile. “That’s a good name. I’m sorry that happened.”

  I shrug, but for some reason, the wine tastes bitter in my mouth. “Shit happens. Those are the breaks, you know?”

  I haven’t thought about Lego in years, and I sure as fuck don’t want to start thinking about him now.

  “Anyway, it’s all good. Because nothing was off limits in my house growing up, and my dad was such a mess of a person, it kind of led me to being much more regimented and self-disciplined on my own accord…” Until now, I think to myself, because while I’m a very self-disciplined man, she is testing me sorely. I scrub a hand over my jaw and force a smile, and then straight up lie. “He made it up later that year when he got me a kitten. Her we did get to keep.”

  She smiles that sweet fucking beautiful smile and it makes me feel like a shit for lying to her. But I realize that I have to get this discussion off the track it was on. I was about to tell her something I’ve never told anyone. My most painful secret.

  I’ve told her way too much already.

  “What about your childhood?” I change the subject from my painful past to her past, hoping to hear a much brighter story than the memories brewing in my mind. “Rainbows and unicorns?”

  She drops her head and forces a nervous smile. Wets her lips before looking back to me with an apathetic shrug. “My father actually died before I was born.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, adding another strike to my bastard card. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “No,” she insists. “It’s okay. Besides, this was our deal, right? You tell me about your life and I tell you about mine.”

  “Yeah…”

  “My mother and I aren’t close either. Since the time I was born, she’s had a drinking problem. Like you, my childhood was unstable to say the least, and sometimes turbulent beyond belief.” She cocks her head slightly to the left, unable to look me in the eyes. It’s common in my field to distrust the words of anyone unable to look me in the eyes, but I know instinctively she’s not bluffing. Not about this. “I had to wake myself up for school everyday. Had to wash my own clothes and take care of my little sister. The onus was on myself to get to school and succeed, and that’s what I’ve spent my life doing. I make sure I do everything right, and I’m hard on myself when I fail.”

  I watch her intently, trying not to frown as I listen to her recall her painful childhood. It’s a rare glimpse at who she might be underneath everything else, a short moment where her poorly rendered depiction of a flirty but innocent seductress slips.

  “Your dad would be proud of you, and your mother should be proud of you. You’re a smart, motivated girl and you’ve got big things ahead of you.” The truth again. As silly as she plays it sometimes, I know for a fact her mind is like a steel trap. She remembers everything in class, and aces all our tests.

  “Thank you for that short, sweet pep talk.” She smiles, but I can tell she feels awkward with the compliments. She’s not used to being vulnerable, something else we have in common…on top of wanting to jump each other’s bones.

  I realize that I might actually admire her for her strength. More than that, I realize I might be starting to like this girl who seems to be two different people all at once. Wanting to fuck her was one thing. Liking her? That was something else entirely.

  Not good.

  Not fucking good at all.

  I pause, my entire body tense. There’s a voice screaming in the back of my head that I need to pull back. We need to pull back. I’ve gathered enough information to find out if she’s being sincere. When I get to my car, I’ll pass all this information over to Hank and then wait to see what he comes up with. Soon, I’ll have my answer.

  I glance down at my watch and realize that the time has flown. We’ve been here well over an hour already, and I have somewhere I really need to be.

  “I’m sorry.” I shake my head and grimace. “I have to go. Can we finish this another day?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she says, forcing a half-smile while running her finger around the top of her half-drunk glass of wine. “Thanks for your time, Professor Ridley.”

  “You can call me Jack.” I rise to my feet and pull my jacket over my torso.

  She stands to join me, locks her eyes with me and we just stare into each other for a little too long, trying to figure out how to proceed. I know how I want to proceed, but also know it’s a dangerous path that stands a fair chance of ending with my life being burned to the ground, leaving a path of destruction in its wake.

  She also seems to be at war with herself, her eyes dancing and her fingers fidgeting. Finally, she pushes forward slightly and plants a kiss on my cheek, burning a hole straight into my dark soul. Her body brushes against mine; hot fucking fire and desire.

  “I’ll see you in class,” I say before twisting on my feet and fleeing the scene of the crime. I clench my teeth as I push through the glass doors of the restaurant and rush onto the sidewalk.

  I pray Hank digs up dirt on Grace and it’s worse than I think.

  Because I need something to put a wedge between me and that girl…before I can’t control my urges anymore.

  Chapter Six

  Grace

  My heart is racing, beating so hard against my chest that I feel like I’m about to drop dead as I round the corner by the coffee shop. That went a little good, and a little bad at the same time because while I got to know him better, I quickly realized that I hate this fake sex kitten persona I’ve been trying to play the part of.

  When I made my first move, it was all about proving to myself and Willow that I’m not some shy little girl incapable of adventure. The plan from the get go—as Willow would so elegantly put it—was to ride that man into the sunrise. But now, I find that I’m really starting to like him.

  I wish I didn’t have to pretend, and I absolutely cannot believe I worked up the nerve to kiss him, even if it was only on the cheek. Innocent enough, but I’m sure he could see the hesitation in my eyes.

  Speaking of eyes…

  I saw something in his when he’d gotten so serious as he noted the time.

  What was that about?

  Just as my phone alerts me that my Uber is about to arrive, I swipe my phone against the screen to cancel my ride.

  Follow him, Grace, the devil on one shoulder says.

  Don’t be a fucking creep, the angel on the other says.

  “I’m going to follow him,” I say under my breath, sending the imaginary angel on my right shoulder into an exhaustive fit, which I manage to ignore.

  I peek around the corner of the brick coffee shop and watch him make his way down the empty city sidewalk as the sun begins to set behind us. He pushes his hands into his jeans as he walks—no…prowls—down the city streets.

  I inhale a sharp breath, my heart racing even faster than before. This man is going to be the death of me one way or another. I round the corner again and stick as close to the shop exteriors as possible.

  My throat is dry, my palms sweaty and shaking. I just can’t seem to shake the thought that he’s some sort of secret agent or something. Perhaps he even has some alter ego.
r />   Oh!

  Maybe he’s an escort and pleasures women at night for money because he’s not just a professor.

  A dreamy smile passes over my lips as I briefly entertain that idea.

  I continue to follow him, making sure to keep my distance all the while being close enough that I don’t risk losing track of him. I’m a complete novice when it comes to espionage, but there’s something oddly empowering about stalking after a hunky man in the dark.

  I mean to be quiet—spies tend to be as silent as ninjas—but my lips and vocal chords betray me as the Mission Impossible theme song hums softly from my lips.

  The city blocks of shops and restaurants give way to a small park that sits idly in between two busy intersections. Jack pauses ahead of me, waiting for the walk signal at a crossroads. To remain out of view, I crouch behind a large shrub planted beside an elderly park bench. I crane my head to get a peek from around the bush and by my calculation, I’m going to be sitting here for a while. That darn light runs on a five-minute interval and it just turned green.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I let out a silent screech of terror, immediately throwing my palm up to cover my treacherous mouth. When I dig the phone from my pocket, there’s a notification waiting for me.

  WILLOW: Have you ridden that hot salami yet?

  My cheeks turn bright red, I’m just damn sure of it. A homeless man cocks me a curious glance from the opposite park bench. But I just give him a quick wave and a smile and shift to the other side of the shrub so that I can still see Jack.

  I look back down at my phone and shoot Willow a reply.

  GRACE: Stop bothering me.

  WILLOW: Oh my God!

  WILLOW: Fucking hussy

  WILLOW: Are you seriously texting me while riding that cock?

  GRACE: I’m doing recon. Talk later.

  WILLOW: Recon? The hell you mean recon? You’re not James Bond. You’re supposed to be John Wayne with tits. Now get on that fucking horse or I know of someone who will.