Perfect Storm

Eight

As Cashmere and Luciano sat in silence, scanning their menus and sipping on water, Cash stole a glance at Luciano. He was wearing an all black Fear of God sweatsuit and black foam runners. He wasn't the kind of man she expected to pull off casual wear so effortlessly. But damn, he made it look good. She couldn't help but let her thoughts linger on how good he smelled, and how much she wanted to hug him right then.

Luciano noticed her staring, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You see something you like?"

Cash rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the smile. "You look good in that sweatsuit, I can't lie. I never took you for the type to wear something like that."

"Thank you, sexy," he replied smoothly, his eyes never leaving hers. "What's the type that you take me for then?"

Before she could answer, the waitress arrived with their food, interrupting the moment. The young woman leaned over to place their plates, but something about the way she moved felt off—like she was trying too hard. Cash watched as the waitress 'accidentally' spilled some water on the table, her chest brushing up too close to Luciano, her giggle too forced.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the waitress said with a coy smile, then, without missing a beat, turned to Luciano. "What are you doing here with her?" Her tone was condescending, and it was clear she didn't think much of Cash.

Cash sat up straighter, narrowing her eyes. "Excuse me?"

The waitress shot her a dirty look. "You. I don't know why he's here with you bitch."

Cash opened her mouth to respond, but Luciano was faster, calmly pushing the waitress back a step as he stood up. His expression darkened, his voice dangerously low. "Even if I wasn't with this beautiful woman right here, you aren't my type bitch."

The waitress blinked, her face falling as Luciano continued, his words biting. "I wouldn't fuck you if I were the most desperate man on earth."

Cash, unable to contain herself, burst into laughter. The tension shattered as Luciano smirked at her, then turned back to the waitress. "Now, get the fuck out of my face before I talk to your manager and get you fired."

The waitress, red-faced and clearly shaken, stammered, "I—I'm sorry... I apologize."

Cash raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed. "You apologizing to me or him? Cuz it better be to me."

"I'm sorry," the waitress mumbled, barely making eye contact.

"That's what I thought," Cash said, brushing her off, already turning her attention back to Luciano.

As the waitress slinked away, Luciano sat back down, and the two of them started laughing again, the mood instantly lighter. Cash wiped away a tear of laughter, shaking her head. "That was wild. You didn't even have to handle it—thank you."

Luciano's eyes softened as he looked at her. "You didn't need to. I got you."

They spent the rest of the meal talking and laughing, sharing stories and learning more about each other. Cash felt her guard lowering bit by bit as they connected over little things like favorite colors—green for her, blue for him—and favorite songs.

When they finally finished, Luciano didn't hesitate to call over the manager and, true to his word, made sure the waitress was fired before they left. Cash couldn't help but smirk at how smoothly he handled it.

Outside, by his car, the night air was cool, and Cash turned to him, a soft smile playing on her lips. "That was so sweet of you."

Luciano, always calm and composed, leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "Hop in," he said softly. She sits in the car and as always unlocks his side.