It didn’t take long before Lizzie tutored Paul in long, grinding movements. Their hips slid together, playing, taunting. The easy rapport they shared made Dima think he should back off and let them develop a normal relationship.
He was not that good. He was greedy, through and through, and he’d keep both as long as he could. When it was all over he’d still have Lizzie. He’d make sure of that. There was no giving up the ground he’d already claimed, the concessions she’d already made. No going back to what they were when something so much bigger hovered just out of reach.
So many unknowns still remained. He hated unknowns. If she couldn’t trust him, couldn’t forgive him…
Lizzie spun around, nestling her ass against Paul’s pelvis and wiggling her hips in a move more suited to Club Devant than any formal competition. If only she could realize that. Her innate sexuality could take them places he’d never even thought of.
By the time Lizzie finished with Paul, he was panting slightly and staring at her with that familiar heat. They’d gathered something of an audience, drawing the notice of the crowd that had been listening to the music. Dima tossed a ten in the vato’s hat, shrugging silently as Lizzie and Paul tripped away, laughing.
He caught up with them in just a couple strides. They hadn’t noticed he’d been lagging behind.
At the door to the restaurant, Paul held the brass-handled glass open with a wide flourish. Lots of black-and-white checks filled the interior, from the tiles across the floor to the backsplash behind the giant flat-topped grill. The booths were all red vinyl, topping off the slightly ’50s kitsch vibe.
Dima slid into a booth by the plate-glass window. Paul automatically sat across from him. For a moment, Lizzie hovered at the edge of the table as if she didn’t know where to go. Decision made, she hopped in next to Paul and tucked her shoulders under his.
He ought not to blame her for the choice. If given the opportunity, he’d have enjoyed teasing and tormenting the blond god. He wouldn’t have been gentle as he dug his fingers into Paul’s thighs, either.
Dima had never claimed to be a reasonable man. He was a petty, small bastard and damn it all, he wanted Lizzie sitting next to him. As if she were his girl, not his partner. The bone-deep grind of his teeth spiked pain down his jaw.
The menu was a single laminated sheet. “Where are the lighter items?”
Paul and Lizzie exchanged an amused look. While Dima didn’t wish to be so self-centered as to think it was at his expense, he could see no other option.
“There is no light stuff,” Paul eventually supplied.
The air was thick with grease and the scent of potatoes, but Dima had assumed there would be other options in this day and age. The stupid, small problem ate at him.
Just like Lizzie’s words from this morning still niggled and ate at him. Just like he blamed himself for the months they’d lost. Every time a woman’s heels clicked on a dance floor, he expected the sickly crunch of bone to follow. Tears and bellows of pain were inevitable. Lizzie hadn’t just cried from the pain, but with the panic of uncertainty. He’d only been able to hold her and murmur nonsense words until the paramedics arrived.
How could Dima expect her to let his failures go if he couldn’t let them go either? So much had always weighed him down, from his parents’ expectations to his own. Anyone he dropped had a long way to fall.
He’d been contemplating making Lizzie his partner in more than just dance? What a fool.
A tiny brunette waitress appeared. With the pad in her hand flipped open, she smiled as if greeting old friends. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee for me,” Paul said.
“Same,” Lizzie chirped.
“Please, a cup of coffee.” Dima pinned his gaze on the pair at the other side of the table. “As it seems to be the only thing I’ll be having this morning.”
Paul grinned. “You’ve got to try the bacon omelet. I think they put half a pig in it.”
“I don’t think that’s nearly as enticing as you mean it to sound.”
“C’mon, live a little,” Lizzie said.
She rubbed the toe of her shoe along his calf. If she believed she could manipulate him with a half-assed caress like that, he would need to reeducate her.
“I take care of myself. Much as I take care of you.”
Her eyebrows went up, but she said nothing.
Paul glanced back and forth between them both and waved the menu. “I think my favorite is the hash browns though. Perfectly done. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside.”
Dima was as locked and ready as if he were about to begin a tango. Supercharged. Stretched near to breaking.