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Jude handed me the bag and I dished out our food. Two McFlurries sat between us. Hopefully there would be no more McFlurry throwing—although, that would make an interesting sport. I could see it on the Olympics now.
“This is nice,” Jude said around a mouthful of cheeseburger.
I nodded in agreement, dipping a fry in ketchup.
“Although,” he continued, “this does not count as our real date.”
“Huh?” I quirked a brow, eating another fry.
“You said I won the bet, which means we get to go on a date. This,” he pointed to the greasy fast food we ate, “is not a proper date.”
“It isn’t?” I asked. “What do you propose we do then?”
“Not sure yet,” he shrugged, his face growing serious, “I’ve got to think of something good.” He took a bite of his burger, staring out at the parking lot. “Are you free Saturday or Sunday?”
“I’m not doing anything.” Except staring at my computer trying to write this paper. I should’ve had it halfway done by now, and this week of shadowing should have been unnecessary, but I only had two paragraphs written and knowing me I’d delete them the next time I opened my word document.
“Perfect,” he grinned, bouncing with excitement like a little boy.
We finished eating, and moved on to the McFlurries.
“I have to say,” Jude started, “this tastes much better going into my mouth, than on my clothes. Do you have any idea how long it took me to lick those stains out of my scrubs?” He didn’t give me a chance to reply. “In fact, they didn’t come out at all. You, Tater Tot, owe me a new pair of scrubs. Should I tell you my size or do you have an idea? I mean, with as much as you stare at me you should know by—”
“Oh, shut up,” I laughed, tempted to flick ice cream in his hair just for the heck of it.
“Alright,” he smiled, “I’ll be quiet, but only because you have this look in your eyes that spells trouble.” He licked ice cream from his top lip. “You know, you kind of remind me of a kitten. You look all cute and innocent, but you have claws.”
I lightly scratched his arm. “And don’t forget it.”
“Ms. O’Connor did you just scratch me?” He pretended to be shocked. “It’s like you’re staking a claim to tell all others to back off.”
“Maybe I am,” I smiled innocently.
“That’s so hot.” He leaned closer and pressed his forehead against mine. “But you don’t need to stake a claim, baby. I’m yours.”
Why did those words fill me with such relief?
I leaned my head on his shoulder, sucking the last remnants of Oreo McFlurry from the spoon. No one had ever made me feel as content as Jude did. He made me feel calm but I wasn’t afraid to let my fiery side out. With him, I could just be…me.
Jude finished his McFlurry and took the empty cup from my hands. “We’ve got to go or we’ll be late. Go ahead and get in the truck, I’m going to change in the bathroom here.”
I nodded as we both hopped off the tailgate. I grabbed the blanket and folded it as he threw away the trash and grabbed his bag from the truck.
I got in the truck and kicked off my flats, drawing my feet up to rest on the dash.
It didn’t take Jude long to return. He tossed the bag behind his seat and we headed towards the nursing home.
By now everyone at the nursing home—workers and patients alike—were aware of who I was and didn’t wonder why I was there.
Jude grabbed the chart from the receptionist and we headed through the building.
“Hey, Mr. Jenkins,” Jude chimed, walking into the room. I’d been shadowing him long enough to know that Mr. Jenkins was his favorite patient, although Jude took the time to know bits and pieces about each of the people he worked with.
“Jude,” Mr. Jenkins grinned. “I was beginning to think you were never coming back.”
“And not tell you?” Jude tsk’d. “Never.”
Jude began checking over the man’s vitals and asking him questions pertaining to that. I leaned against the wall with my trusty notebook and pen in hand.
