Page 401 of One More Kiss

Swoon.

I glance back at him. “So…how long are you planning on sticking around?”

“I guess it depends on how tonight goes.”

“I thought this was a one-night-only gig?”

“I thought so, too, but like I said, you’ve intrigued me, Princess, and I’m not one to let diamonds in the rough stay buried.”

“Always was a sucker for Aladdin,” I remind him.

“Was it the dark hair, olive skin, and snarky attitude?” he quips, bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

Tilting my head to one side, I check off each proverbial box in my head as I shamelessly scan him from head to toe. Dark hair–albeit salted with white streaks. Check. Olive skin. Check. And snarky attitude? Double-check. All of these traits combined with his icy blue eyes? Jasmine wouldn’t know what hit her.

“Apparently,” I admit after a few seconds. “Where are you from, anyway?”

“I was raised here, but my father’s mother is from Greece, which is where I’m told I get the tan skin from, and my mother’s from Bulgaria, hence my first name being…” His voice trails off before he flicks on his blinker and checks his blind spot even though the roads are empty at this time of night.

“Your first name being…?” I prod.

With a wicked smirk, he pulls into the parking lot of Burrito Bandito. “Nice try, Princess.”

I bite my lip to keep from grinning back at him, refusing to acknowledge the way his pet name is slowly growing on me or the fact that I haven’t had this much fun being teased in forever.

“Come on,” I beg. “You’re killing me, Hawthorne. I wanna know your––”

“It’s a drive-thru,” he realizes, stating the obvious. You’d think I was inviting him to eat off a toilet seat as he inspects the little sombrero sign hanging crookedly on the cracked stucco.

“Sure is, Fancy Pants. Is that a problem?” I ask.

He hesitates.

“Don’t let the outside fool you. It’s a hidden gem. I promise. Do you trust me?”

He tears his gaze away from the building and quirks his brow. “Did you just quote Aladdin?”

I open my mouth to argue before replaying my comment inside my head. Then I laugh and cover my face. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t even realize it.”

“Mm-hmm, sure you didn’t.”

“I really didn’t!” I argue through another bout of laughter. “But seriously, it’s delicious. And besides, it’s good to try new things. You might even surprise yourself and end up addicted like the rest of us small-town hooligans.”

“And what do I get out of the deal?” he asks.

“A really good taco?” I quip.

“Like, your taco or––”

“Hawthorne!” I smack his shoulder, my face the color of a freaking cherry tomato.

He laughs. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”

“Mm-hmm, sure you are.”

“But I mean, if it’s on the menu––”

“Will you stop?” I screech, my embarrassment warring with my amusement the longer this conversation prevails.

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