Page 40 of Forsaken Oath

God, just her scent is turning me on. What the fuck is wrong with me, honestly.

“A deep-fried Oreo?” she muses, her eyes growing wide as she looks up at me.

I swipe my tongue along my bottom lip, my gaze narrowing on her plush bottom lip. “I’ve never had that one, but I bet it’s good. Anything deep-fried and covered in chocolate sounds good.” My favorite is the banana. They deep-fry it, dunk it in chocolate coating, and sprinkle peanuts on top of it.

She side-eyes me. “Even Brussels sprouts?”

My lip twitches at the sass. “I mean, have you tried Brussels sprouts deep-fried and dipped in chocolate?”

“Well, no,” she says with a grin, her nose scrunching up a little. It kind of reminds me of a rabbit. Like one of those cute little bunnies Ma chases out of her garden . . . and oh my god, what the actual fuck is happening right now? Am I having some kind of malfunction? Since when did I start to think of women as cute woodland animals?

No, not women. Woman. One.

My Eloise.

MyEloise?

Her smile falls as her gaze bounces around my face, and I cough to cover up whatever the fuck was happening to my expression. “Yeah, sure, let’s, uh, get that.”

“Okay,” she says, dragging the word out and stepping up to the counter.

“Welcome to Batter Up. Can I interest you in a deep fried funnel cake on a stick today?” the guy behind the counter asks.It sounds like this is the thousandth time he’s recited this little pitch.

“Hey, yeah, I’ll take the Oreo, and he’ll take Brussel sprouts.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder toward me.

“Oh, uh, yeah. We don’t have that here,” the guy behind the counter says. He looks between the two of us and scratches the back of his neck. “You want something else?”

I blink, a flush creeping up the back of my neck. The guy behind the counter is staring at me expectantly, and I feel like an idiot.

“Uh, banana. Please.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet, fishing out a twenty-dollar bill. I slide it across the counter to the guy before Eloise can even think about paying. She shoots me a look, her brows knitting together, but I just shrug and give her a lopsided grin.

"My treat, Peach," I murmur, leaning in close so only she can hear. Her eyes narrow slightly, but there's a glimmer of amusement in their golden depths.

The guy behind the counter takes the cash and hands me back some change. “Your order will be up in just a few minutes. You can wait over there.” He points to the other side of the food truck, where a small crowd has gathered.

“Thanks, man,” I murmur, dropping my change in a tip jar on the counter.

We step to the side as more people line up behind us, the scent of fried dough and melted chocolate filling the air. Eloise leans against the side of the food truck, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She's close enough that I can feel the heat of her body, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to reach out and pull her into me.

“So,” she says, her voice casual but her eyes intense. “You never answered my question. How can you run the Alley and race in the Gauntlet at the same time?”

“It’s a bit of a gray area.”

“Ah,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear and glancing over my shoulder. “You don’t want to tell me.”

I drag my hand over my beard, buying myself a couple of seconds. “Nah, it’s not that, Peach?—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts me, shifting her weight and glancing away again.

“How much do you know about the Alley?”

“Let’s see,” she says like she’s settling in to launch a lecture. “The Alley was once the belle of the ball, much like the speedway is here, though it was never in the middle of downtown. Because that shit iswild.But some old dudes let it go or sold it or something like thirty years ago. Some punk kids stepped in?—”

Amusement tap-dances along my spine. “Is that me? Am I one of the punk kids?”

She gives me a sidelong glare. “I don’t know, BeauCarter, are you?”

I hold up my hand, fingers splayed in the Vulcan salute. “I’ve mended my wild ways, scout’s honor.”

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