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“So where are we going?” I ask, getting excited.
“You like Mexican?”
“I live for Mexican.”
“Good. There’s this great taco place in town.”
“I’m starving. I could eat everything on the menu,” I say, running my hands through my hair.
A slow smile curls his lips. “Somehow, I don’t really believe you.” He glances at my high-rise blue Levis, then turns his gaze back to the road.
He parks his truck near the restaurant, and I follow him inside.
“Dude, girls love to eat, especially with my metabolism,” I tell him as we walk behind the hostess leading us to a booth in the back.
He runs his eyes over my body again and chuckles. “I believe you.” People say hello to him and give me curious eyes when I pass them, especially the young girls sitting in the corner who giggle when he runs a hand through his hair. The hostess gives us a couple of menu’s and asks what we want to drink. He orders for us, but I don’t mind—I’m too busy scanning the menu with saliva rushing to my mouth.
“Your eyes always get a shine to them when you see something you like,” he says, sitting back, brushing his thumb back and forth over his lower lip.
“Truth is, I haven’t seen something I like for a long time,” I confess, my cheeks heating in the process. I want to tell him I’ve been swimming against the current for years, trying not to drown from the pain I feel inside. Many times, I wanted to give up, but the memory of my brother’s smiling face always pulled me to the surface again.
“I take that as a compliment,” he says, winking.
I follow the movement and pretend my palms don’t start to sweat and my heart doesn’t hammer in my ears.
“With food, I mean. I can put anything in there,” I joke, trying to get my mind off his crooked smile.
He starts to laugh, and my cheeks flush when the hostess places two beers in front of us. “On the house,” she says.
“Thanks,” he drawls, giving her a tight polite smile, not even close to the ones he flashes me.
“Please ignore my last remark,” I mutter under my breath.
“Not so easy, babe.” He shifts in his seat, and out of the corner of my eye, I see he’s watching me while I check out the menu again.
“You ready to order?” the waitress asks, getting out her notepad.
“We are,” he says, still staring at me, and I can’t fight the smile forming on my lips. I really should think before I say something.
We order way too much. Or, more correctly, I probably order too much, but I don’t care. Being outside on a snowboard all day does magic tricks to my appetite, and I want to celebrate it with the biggest burrito known to mankind. When the food comes, I immediately dig in. He watches me putting a big forkful of guacamole and beans in my mouth in an unladylike fashion. Fuck.
“Enjoying it?” he asks, and smiles when he takes a bite from his enchilada.
“It’s so good,” I groan, and he snickers. “How’s yours?” I look longingly at his plate.
He pushes it toward me. “Want a bite?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I drawl, pushing my plate away from me.
“I have never met someone like you,” he says, sitting back in the booth.
“Stuffing my face, you mean?” I grin.
“That too, but most of the time, my dates eat a salad and nothing else,” he says, draping his arm over the headrest.
“Never, I love this,” I tell him, motioning around the table. “I don’t care about my thighs, and this is not a date… remember.”
He looks in the direction of my hips hidden under the table. “I think they look just fine.” He waggles his eyebrows.
