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“Because you want to search Tommy’s farm,” I insisted.
Champ blew out a breath. “Yes. Obviously, yes, okay? But that’s not all I want. I truly do wanna make this right. I’m not Scott. I promised you no blowback, and I meant it. Also…” Champ ducked his head to catch my eyes and grinned his devastating grin. “I’m fucking hungry, and now that I remembered I’m in the neighborhood of these tacos, I’m dying for some, because their freshly made salsa… hngh. Mouth orgasm.”
I shook my head, amused against my will. “I am not in the mood to be charmed, damn it. Or bribed with any available carbohydrate.” But I thought about fresh salsa, and my traitorous stomach growled like a ravenous beast.
“Your stomach’s on board. And I only want one lunch.” Champ’s pleading was nearly irresistible. “Let me make my case, and then you can decide, okay?”
I could picture him going through some kind of hostage negotiation rule book and getting to the section entitled “Make the other person believe they’re in control.”
But also… Damn it, I was hungry. And he owed me a lot, but I would start with a taco.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Direct me to this life-changing taco place, then.”
Half an hour later, we pulled into the parking lot of a tiny place with neon signs in the windows and a rickety wooden porch out front that could not be up to code.
“Oh, delightful. Does every taco order come with a side of E. coli as a free gift?”
“Bup bup bup. Bite your tongue.” Champ unfolded himself from the passenger’s side with a stretch and a groan that went straight to my cock—because I was weak from hunger, obviously. “I told you: freshly made salsa. Trust and believe.”
But I didn’t want to trust him, and I wasn’t sure I could believe him. Not after that disastrous meeting.
Champ led me up the wooden stairs to the porch, and I shivered when a chilly breeze blew through my button-down shirt and sweater vest. Inside, the place didn’t look any fancier than it had from the outside. The black-and-white tile floor appeared clean but had to be older than I was. The place did smell incredible, though.
Off to one side of the restaurant was a counter with order pads and tiny golf pencils. “We fill out these forms with our orders. I bet you want…” He looked me up and down, tilting his head to one side like a carnival psychic. “Green chicken enchiladas.”
My stomach growled again, happy to be understood on this fundamental level.
“Nope,” I said primly. “Salad with grilled chicken.”
For a second, I thought Champ would argue, but he didn’t. He filled out our forms—he’d ordered enough food and beer for three people, of course—then had a long conversation with the woman at the counter, who greeted him by name like a long-lost friend and spoke to him in Spanish.
It was another layer to Champ’s personality, and I found it hard to reconcile them all. The sweet guy who stopped by my place at night. The former military man who ran a security company where he could assign his employees to do team-building exercises. The asshole who left his dog behind when he ran out my door in the morning like a pack of wild relationship wolves were chasing him. The earnest man begging me to trust him. The guy who was Bunny Champion’s offspring, which meant he had to be rich beyond belief, even though he never acted like any of the incredibly wealthy people I’d ever met. And now, this Spanish-speaking taco connoisseur.
It was fascinating, because I wanted to know all these parts of him… and fucking frustrating, because he didn’t seem to want me to get to know him.
When our food tray was ready, I headed for a table, but Champ steered me outside to the seating area on the rickety porch, where enormous metal patio heaters blazed in a ring around a hodgepodge of tables and chairs.
“More privacy out here,” he said, nodding toward the empty tables and chairs.
“That’s because it’s January,” I cried.
Champ moved around me and chose a table next to one of the heaters. He set the tray in the center, spread out the food, and sat down. “Local-known pro tip in winter: sit in the sun and close to a heater.” He patted the seat next to him. “You’ll be fine. I’ll warm you up.”
Right. Like that was a thing we did in our non-relationship.
When I didn’t immediately comply, he turned the full power of that hot, blue gaze on me and cocked his head to one side. “Problem?”
“No.” But my stomach swooped as I dragged myself toward the table. I was so turned around after the chaotic morning that even just sitting next to him felt dangerous to my equilibrium.
I took a seat on the furthest edge of the bench he was sitting on and took a deep breath. The heaters gave off a faintly smoky smell that was homey and pleasant enough that I felt myself relaxing a tiny bit, despite my impending death from hypothermia.
