Page 31 of When It's Us
As if pulled from the trance of her perfect mouth on me, her voice jolts me back, and I shake my head even though she can’t see me.
“Not yet,” I tell her. “Here, tell me what you taste.”
She opens slightly, and I feed her another fry. Her breath catches a little when my fingers touch her lips.
Interesting.
She rolls the fry around in her mouth a bit before she speaks. “Salt. Sweet. It’s fries and chocolate.” Her voice takes on a softer edge. “What’s the point of this?”
“What do you feel?” I ask, watching her.
“Mostly confused.”
I chuckle. So fucking different from her usual fire.
“Try again,” I say, pressing another ice cream-tipped fry to her lips. There’s something wholly erotic about feeding this woman fries in the middle of a busy diner, but I don’t let myself overthink it.
She sighs and I don’t know if it’s in uncertainty or pleasure. “Crunchy outside, fluffy inside. Warm and cold at the same time.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Her eyes slowly open and she blinks a couple of times as she finishes chewing. She eyes me for a couple of beats. “You’re really fucking weird, you know that?”
I smile, giving her all the charm I can muster. “Thanks.”
She purses her lips and drops her eyes back to the plate, looking at the burger.
“Eat,” I tell her, tipping my chin up at her.
“Are you really okay with eating a salad?” she asks softly, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Hell no.” I chuckle and raise my hand to signal the waitress.
She saunters over, and Ginger watches as I order another burger and fries and tell her about the awful salad. The waitress assures me she’ll take it off our bill and clears the plate before walking away.
She seems content to know I’ve got more food coming, so I watch as she digs into the burger, taking a ridiculously large bite, and the moan she lets out is erotic as hell. Before she even finishes chewing, she’s shoving a fry in her mouth.
Ginger
Hutchdisappearsintothevan and a light flicks on. I can't see much from where I’m sitting at the picnic table—especially once he pulls the curtains closed. I hear movement inside, but I focus on my laptop, playing around with branding color combos for a bakery in downtown Napa.
A few minutes later, he steps back out, a towel in hand and his duffel slung over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna hit the shower, but your bed is all made up, whenever you’re ready.”
He points, and I realize while I was showering, he’d lifted the top of the van, the roof jutting up into the night sky. “You’ll see when you go inside.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, and he nods before walking away, footsteps crunching on gravel.
I wrap up a few more minutes of work at the picnic table, then decide if I’m going to get ready for bed without an audience, now’s probably my best shot. After saving my file, I shut down my laptop and gather my things.
Inside the van, I immediately see how Hutch manages to move around—there’s way more headroom than I expected. The raised roof opens the space, and he’s even carved out a cozy little loft bedfor me. A littletoocozy, since there’s barely any clearance between the mattress and the canvas above, but hey—at least we’re not sharing. Thank God. Given how I haven’t stopped ogling him since he picked me up, separate beds are non-negotiable.
Not sure when he’ll be back, I dig through my suitcase for pajamas. After a quick scan of the windows to make sure I’m not putting on a show, I strip off my top and bra and tug on an oversized tee, then slip out of my pants. A cool breeze from the ocean slips in, making me shiver—this isn’t Napa. Up here in Northern California, the nights bite back.
Gravel crunches outside. I pause, then hurry up the step by the cupboard and scramble under the covers as a knock hits the van door.
“You decent?” Hutch calls.
