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“Second best,” Theo replies. How like him to not provide an explanation.
The bartender grins. “You two are cute.”
“Just hungry,” Theo replies. On cue, my stomach rumbles audibly. “We’ll also take the dip duo to start.”
I blink. “We’re sharing a dip?”
He raises his brows, meeting my gaze. “That going to be a problem?”
“I usually don’t do dips with douches—”
“You know you don’t get extra points for alliteration as an adult, right?”
“—but I’m too hungry to argue.”
He sips his beer. “Service is fast here. Dip’ll be out in a minute. Why didn’t you get a snack at the airport?”
“Why do you give a shit?” I ask, even as a funny feeling invades my chest. Theo won’t stop attending to my needs, and it’s throwing me for a loop. What man does that?
Why don’t they do it more often?
“I can’t have you hangry in front of a client.”
“You’re the one who gets hangry.”
His lips twitch again. “Maybe that’s just my personality.”
“Maybe you honed your give-a-shit skills being an overbearing big brother. Yes, I am aware alliteration doesn’t get you extra points, but I like showing off.”
Theo goes stiff. He looks away and sips his beer, and those broody vibes I get from him all week are suddenly back.
His family is clearly a sore spot. He didn’t bring them up this week, so I took his cue and didn’t ask about them either. But I’m too curious now not to. I don’t mean to be rude, and I certainly don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Lord knows I don’t like talking about my family either. He’s just been so . . . different today. Softer. Less grumpy. He’s opened up to me in a few small but important ways. Why not feel him out, see if he’d open up to me about this too? I want to know more about the guy who tries very hard to get his younger sisters to wear size appropriate shirts. Who line dances and knows the words to Luke Bryan songs and has a real, full life outside of work. A rare thing in our business.
Our dip duo comes out—queso and guacamole with salty tortilla chips still warm from the fryer—and he nods at it. “Eat.”
“You’re going to help out, right?”
“Eat.” But he follows me as I unroll my silverware from a cloth napkin.
The dip is delectable. Too good not to inhale, but not so good that it distracts me from the fact that I’m dying to prod Theo a little more about his family. I don’t. I chow down in silence, trying not to read too much into Theo taking a chip or two, but otherwise allowing me to go to town.
Our sandwiches arrive not long after, and we dig into those together. Taking my first bite—soft bun, juicy, crunchy chicken, slaw, cheese, good Lord—I fall back in my chair and let out a moan.
“Best you’ve had in a while, huh?” Theo asks, glancing at me.
“Don’t tell me you’ve had any better lately.”
He makes this gruff sound that I think is a chuckle. “How deprived are you?”
I take another bite and moan again in reply, drawing a glance from a passing server. I ignore him but don’t miss the way Theo’s eyes keep flicking to my face.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head, using the blunt tips of his fingers to gather a few French fries off his plate. “You’re an enthusiastic eater.”
“Bet you don’t get that compliment often.”
He makes that noise again, and this time his shoulders shake. He’s laughing. My chest swells, and I take another bite in an effort to tamp down the feeling.
I’m out to destroy this man. Not make him laugh.
“I have a healthy appetite.” He pats his stomach. “I’m also quite generous—a giver, if you will—as you just witnessed with our dip duo there.” He gestures to the now-empty plate in front of me.
He’s playing along. Being funny.
Flirting.
I should shut up and scarf the rest of this sandwich and go back to my hotel room, stat. No more puns, no more alliteration. Definitely no more innuendo.
Instead, I look him in the eye and take my biggest bite yet, chewing slowly, licking my lips with relish. His gaze flicks to my mouth. The look on his face sharpens, and the heaviness in my core spreads down my thighs and travels to my neck and hands and nipples.
I love to eat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Theo appreciates that fact very much.
Surprising, because I would’ve guessed women of appetite weren’t his jam. I imagined him going for someone who wouldn’t threaten his appetite. Wouldn’t intrude on his need to devour.
Someone who wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his fancy friends. I remember one of my roommates in college being asked by her boyfriend to lose five pounds before she met his friends from home over spring break. He wanted a show pony, a girl who’d impress, not imbibe.
