Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Sure. Is there anything you don’t like?” She snags a pair of plastic gloves and slips them on.
“I don’t know.”
She doesn’t lose her smile or her patience. “My parents own this place,” she admits. “Everything is good.”
“Okay. I’ll have the everything is good. That sounds excellent.”
She laughs, grabs a huge bun with cheese baked into it, and assembles me a wonder sandwich. Ham, turkey, roast beef, cheddar, lettuce that doesn’t look like it’s going to kill you, and a swipe of mayo all come together to create a perfect-looking beast that practically makes my mouth jet saliva.
As I said, a few hours. It’s now well past that point, and I’m starved.
“I’ll have another one of those, but with cucumbers, pickles, olives, peppers, pineapple, and banana peppers.”
“Sounds great.”
A few of those are questionable toppings, but if she thinks so, she doesn’t show it. She probably makes hundreds of sandwiches a day. She has to get at least a few strange orders.
She whips the second sandwich up just as fast and places them both in a big paper bag with the sides and a few little plastic cups.
“You don’t have tea, do you?” I ask.
“Cold tea?”
“Hot? Mint or…uh…anything?”
“We have mint. Hold on, I’ll check the back.”
I appreciate her extra effort. Even if the place was packed, I think she’d still go and check for me. I peel a ten-dollar bill out of my wallet and stuff it into the tips jar by the debit machine before she gets back.
She returns with a massive paper cup. “I double-cupped it and put a sleeve on it so it doesn’t burn you, but it’s still crazy hot. Be careful.”
“Thank you, I will.”
She rings me up quickly. I give her too much money and tell her to keep the change. She waves me out, looking utterly adorable, her happiness infectious. If I was sixteen and my parents made me work at the family business, I don’t think I would have been that happy. Then again…maybe. Maybe she has great parents who don’t—
Ugh, cutting that off. I don’t want to go there.
The bright side of this whole thing is that the rain has turned into a fine drizzle, and the sun is peeking out between the wall of flat grey clouds. Double bright side? These sandwiches look great, and being so hungry, they’ll probably taste even better. Maybe even better than tacos. It’s not fall in love with your life so hard that you don’t need to get fake married material, but it’s something, and I’ll take that as a small win.
Chapter seven
Rowleigh
Idon’t know what’s more humiliating. The fact that I feel like I just got stampeded over by a horde of angry squirrels, and some of them dragged their nuts on my face—the edible kind and the not-so-edible kind—or the whole tucking into this sandwich like a ravenous beast with no care for etiquette whatsoever.
It didn’t even matter that by the time she got back here in the drizzle, the brown paper bag was soggy, and the sandwiches were slightly moist.
Yes, moist.
Like the bread sweated.
I don’t care. It’s fucking delicious.
I look up from cramming food into my mouth and swallowing like there’s not going to be a tomorrow. We’re both still soaked, but the sun is fully out now, and the wind has died down, so it’s only regular cold and not frigid. It’s slightly uncomfortable and itchy, but hunger triumphs over comfort at the moment.
Also? I’m not sure I can get back on my feet and get my head clear of dancing black spots without nutrition first.
Bellatrix has her face turned to the side. She’s eating daintily, like a regular human. I don’t mean for it to happen, but my eyes rake down her body. Her dress clings to her like a second skin, outlining her curves. Especially the curves of her breasts, including the hard ridges of her nipples. Her sweater has slipped off her shoulder, revealing pale, creamy skin and a smattering of goosebumps. Her legs are stretched out before her, her dress riding up to reveal slim calves and more goosebumps.
She’s sitting on cold cement, soaking wet, because of me.
She turns, and I quickly jerk my eyes back to her face. Guilt swamps me for staring at her and getting us into this mess. I should have just manned up and eaten the damn tacos.
I have zero fancy words for a vagina, but my brain takes a sharp wrong turn, diving straight off the cliff of good and proper and ending straight in smut central. I get the full show of images from me getting us somewhere warm and stripping off Bellatrix’s sodden clothing to getting her in a hot shower, going down on my knees, and replacing my taco-repulsive reflex with a new love of her lady taco.
Fuck.
Now, her nipples aren’t the only thing that’s hard and probably visible.