Past imperfect - страница 11

"Well, now, he's going to steal a spoon as a keepsake!" Marco thought wearily, but the girl did something absolutely different. She gently opened her lips and delicately held the tip of her pink tongue. Marco swallowed. His field of vision narrowed instantly to a tiny spot in the centre of which was the flushed face of the red-haired beast.

With an expression of lust, the girl bent over the tart, carefully wrapping her lips around the reddish flesh of the finico d’India and sucking it into her mouth with visible pleasure. At this movement, her cheeks slightly retreated. The girl tilted her head back slightly and closed her eyes, savouring the sweetness on her tongue. There were faint traces of white cream on her lips.

Marco's blood instantly boiled. He gripped the stem of his glass tightly. The man leaned further into the shadows so no one would notice him staring at the girl. Involuntarily, he parted his lips, watching the girl tastefully roll the pulp of fruit on her tongue before licking the remnants of cream from her lips with a giggle.

Marco cursed inwardly, feeling an unwelcome heaviness in his groin, and suddenly became angry. He was angry with Paola because his pride prevented him from calling her and inviting her to spent an evening to relieve tension. With Giorgio for aching legs and arms. With all of the couples at the tables for being so cheerful and laughing loudly. And finally, at the girl for not being able to use a spoon or a napkin.

Marco turned away abruptly, noticing how the girl had gulped half a glass of wine as if it were plain water. A drunk! A minute later, this witch was already stomping across the hall. Marco realized from her flushed face that the wine had reached its goal and was directing her actions more than her brain. The girl definitely couldn’t drink! Marco snorted contemptuously turned away keeping watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Meanwhile, the girl reached the piano in the corner, hesitated in confusion for a second, then finally fell down on the banquette and began playing some Christmas melody. Marco involuntarily turned around and looked at the girl. Her graceful fingers were fluttering over the keyboard, and her slender feet were stomping on the pedals. He wondered what those feet would look like without shoes.

The little red fox was swaying to the beat of the music, a slight smile playing on her lips. She clearly enjoyed what she was doing. Marco cursed again, tossed a few bills onto the table, and left the restaurant before he could properly put on his coat

He was waving his arms as he pushed them into his sleeves, accidentally hitting a homeless man who had been looking through the restaurant window. Without much remorse, Marco threw out a "Mi scusa" and kept walking, cursing under his breath about the December cold and all tourists in general.

He barely noticed the angry, hateful gaze of the homeless man he had accidentally kicked.

While Lera was playing, only one guest left the restaurant, and he left at the very beginning. After that, the evening went smoothly. Lera sobered up quickly and started to play more cheerfully. However, the rest of the guests got drunk and started singing discordantly.

Lera regained her composure and began playing all the Italian songs she knew. The atmosphere became fun and emotional. Il cameriere moved her glass from the table to the piano and poured wine into it. Lera thanked him with a nod, but her hands were busy.