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A Transcendental Yogi Life: With Eternal Stories

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Sumit Singh

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“I ate a coconut crisp and the whole thing shriveled in my mouth, evaporating into nothing but pure taste. I held another up to the golden light as someone sat down across from me. "I can't figure out this cooking technique. Do you think it's a meringue?" I asked. "Actually, I believe it's freeze-dried." My gaze leaped from the coconut crisp to the source of the foreign-sounding voice, smoother and younger than Michael Saltz's agitated lisp. Pascal Fox. His black hair was slightly matted and spiked, hair that was- amazingly- a bit like mine, thick and straight in places, wispy and fine in others. He wore a cobalt-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoos. In the semi-dark, I made out a mural of forks and knives, cows and pigs, carrots and eggplants and squashes and melons, like a super-hot, toned supermarket. He seemed to be showing off the whole mural to me. "Oh, hi!" I said. "I remember you. You came to my restaurant about three weeks ago, right?" "Wow," I said. "You have a good memory." I couldn't stop blushing and I regretted eating all that food. It was hard to feel pretty when I felt nine months pregnant. "I don't remember everyone. Just the special people." He nudged his body an inch toward mine and my breath caught in my throat. Up close, I noticed he had a slightly crooked smile and somewhat stained teeth. I liked that he wasn't the perfect model he appeared to be in all the magazines. He was almost a regular person.”

TattoosHandsomenessPascal FoxRegular Guy
Book:Food Whore
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“Viktor looked at the older man’s nightshirt, robe, and nightcap. His lips quirked into a smile. “The hour is late, and the household sleeps. How is it that you are still awake?” “I knew you would be knocking on the door sooner or later.” Pickles looked down his long nose at him. “You have passed the previous six nights with Her Ladyship.” “You are observant, my good man.” “No, Your Highness, I am the one who locks the door at night.” Pickles reached into his robe’s pocket and produced a key. He passed it to the prince, saying, “After tonight, let yourself into the house.” Viktor grinned at the majordomo and lifted the key out of his hand. “Your trust honors me.” “You are unlikely to abscond with the silver,” Pickles drawled.”

NightPrinceKeyPicklesSneakingAbscond
Book:Seducing the prince
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