Page 52 of Axe-ing for Trouble
Mila
As though he knew I needed junk food to steel myself after the disappointment I’d suffered today, Jude drove a solid thirty minutes to the nearest McDonald’s.
We sat in his truck in a parking lot off 95 while I willed the carbs, salt, and grease to quell the panic inside me.
He’d been so kind in the forest. Searching tirelessly, keeping me fed and hydrated, and attempting to lift my spirits. As frightened as I was, I’d actually enjoyed the time with him a little.
“Admit it.” I threw a fry at him.
It bounced off his shoulder and landed on the dash, where he plucked it up and popped it into his mouth.
“It’s delicious.”
He held his double cheeseburger up, studying it like it was a rare jewel.
“Good thing you let me order for you.” I chomped on a scalding-hot fry. “I can’t believe you tried to get a salad.” I shuddered.
“Seemed like a good idea.”
“McDonald’s doesn’t have salads. They used to, but no normal person ordered them. Why would they when they could have this instead?” I lifted up a McNugget like a trophy.
“Clearly.” He gestured at the two bags filled with fries, chicken nuggets, and every type of dipping sauce.
Once he’d admitted that he hadn’t had McDonald’s since he was a kid, I’d insisted that we sample all the delights. So we may have over-ordered a bit.
I glared at him as I picked up my Coke. “Don’t complain. I got the Filet-O-Fish for a healthy option.”
He rolled his eyes and took a massive bite out of his burger.
Shit. That shouldnothave been hot, but suddenly, my core was tightening.
He closed his eyes and chewed, his strong jaw working.
“I can admit it. After a day spent in the cold, damp woods, this has made me pretty happy.”
He broke off a piece of his burger and held it out to Ripley, who was lounging in the back seat.
He took another bite and grinned at me, one cheek puffed out.
My stomach flipped, and not because I’d shoved an eleventh McNugget drenched in sugary barbeque sauce down my throat.
I should not be having fun. I was on the run from criminals, I’d lost valuable evidence, and I was exhausted and in pain.
But I was at peace here, sitting beside him, listening to country music, and devouring fast food.
He took another enormous bite, the move leaving a glob of ketchup on one side of his mouth.
“You have ketchup on your face.” Without thinking, I leaned over the console and used my thumb to wipe at the condiment. When the soft yet scratchy sensation of his beard registered, I yanked my hand back. Shit. This was exactly the kind of physical contact we needed to avoid.
“Sorry,” I said, grimacing.
He snatched my wrist and, gaze heated, brought my thumb to his lips and gently licked it clean.
My heart practically leaped out of my chest.
His tongue. Oh God, did the memories of his tongue haunt me.
I must have briefly hallucinated, because before I could truly register the sensation, he dropped my hand and went back to devouring his burger, completely unaffected.
