Page 189 of Delicious

I burst into laughter. ‘Yeah. Twenty for a jar? Might as well take my firstborn.’

He freezes. ‘You have kids?’

‘Imaginary firstborn,’ I correct. I brandish my left hand. ‘Not married.’

‘That doesn’t mean no kids.’

Fair enough, but it was a great segue into letting him know I’m tragically single. He’s obviously one of those guys who doesn’t date outside of his culture, and I don’t blame him. I spend a lot of time in the community for work and socializing, but I’m a guest there, and there are nuances about it I’ll never be able to fully understand.

But hell, I’m not here looking for a marriage proposal.

The moment stays awkward, and he stands up. Fantastic. I ruined it again, like I always do. I might as well just?—

‘Hungry?’

I blink. Oh, shit. Right. Robbie sent me on this errand for food that neither of us particularly wanted. I still don’t have an appetite, but Mellie’s looking at me expectantly, so I can’t tell him no. ‘Yeah. Make me your favorite.’

His face does something complicated, and then he motions for me to stand up. Moving the stool, he takes the chair, sets it near the cash register, and points at it. Once again, I move like I have no control over my body, and he lets out a fairly loud, satisfied hum when I’m back down on my ass again.

He cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders back, and my dick gives a needy twitch. This time, his gaze catches it. Before mortification sinks in, he licks his lips again. The motion is definitely deliberate this time. His mouth is settled in a smirk, and he looks me in the eye before flexing his biceps.

Oh.

Then he turns away. This time, however, the moment isn’t shattered.

This time, there’s heat and the promise of something else, if I can just be patient. And I can safely say the one thing life has taught me is the value of knowing when to run and when to stay and fight for what I want.

ChapterFour

Mellie

Idon’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

Wait, strike that. Idoknow what I’m doing. I just don’t knowwhy. My neck is burning from that flying little demon bug, and my cock is hard, and my insides are all warm and soft and wanting. I should have given him a sandwich and sent him on his way.

Instead, I closed the damn truck, and now, I’m making him a fried portabella burger in hopes that the way to his dick is through his stomach.

I can feel his gaze on me. I know he knows this is a significant moment, and I play into it. I ensure he’s got the perfect view of my ass as I move around, and it’s obvious he’s into it when I flex my arms and my pecs. He seems to be really into my body, which is kind of nice to feel after this impossibly long dry spell.

But there’s something else hovering between us.

Something more than the promise of a quickie in the back of my truck before we go our separate ways.

I had been dripping with sarcasm when I called him my hero, but the truth was, the way he’d come in here to save me did something to my insides. There’s something in my chest, almost like a second heartbeat. I have never felt like this before.

This man is both everything I want and everything I don’t. I have no idea what to do with that juxtaposition except lean in.

But I can only drag this on for so long. The food is finished—two burgers and two portions of fries now done and nestled in the little paper to-go boxes. I glance around, then jerk my head toward the back of the truck near the open door. It’s the largest empty space and where I usually take my lunches.

And sometimes my stress naps.

He follows me and sits with his back to the supply shelf, his extended thigh almost touching mine. He takes the little container from my grasp and keeps my gaze as he lifts the burger to his mouth and takes a huge bite.

My breath catches in my chest. I don’t know why it matters to me that he likes it. Cooking is pretty much the only thing in my life important to me apart from my family and friends, and some stranger on campus has no power over my self-worth as a chef.

Except itdoesmatter what he thinks.

I want him to love it.

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