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Her eyes widen at my change in tone. “I eat when I get home,” she says.
“You didn’t have breakfast,” I say, stating the obvious. Is that how she usually functions? Her body needs fuel to go through the level of physical activity she puts it through.
“I had a protein shake.”
I scoff at that. “A shake is hardly a meal. You’re practically starving your body.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “A protein shake is a perfectly acceptable meal replacement. I’m not starving myself.”
“If you want to go to the gym, you’ll be eating a proper meal first.”
She huffs out in frustration. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m a grown-ass woman…”
“Language,” I bark out.
Her eyes widen, and she looks at her feet, chastised. I didn’t mean to pull out the daddy voice, but I can’t help it knowing how she’s abusing her perfect body.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, probably not even realizing she’s slipped into babygirl mode. I feel like a dick because I’m definitely not her daddy.
“Let’s go get you something to eat, then we can go to the gym.”
She nods once, relenting. “Fine, have it your way.”
It doesn’t take us long to pull up to Lazlo’s.
“I can’t go in here looking like this,” she squeals when she sees where I’ve brought her.
“Why not?”
“I’m in workout clothes, and I’m sweating like a pig. I mean, look at me!”
What she doesn’t realize is that I am looking. She’s fucking stunning. It doesn’t matter that she’s still sweaty from her workout. That she’s wearing a simple shirt and yoga pants. She couldn’t look bad if she were wearing a trash bag.
“No one here will care.”
“I care. Why can’t we just go to a drive-thru somewhere?”
I shake my head. “Your body needs fuel, not junk.”
She crosses her arms, causing her breasts to plump up and she rolls her eyes. If she were really mine, I would spank that sass right out of her.
“Let’s go eat,” I say, ignoring her temper.
I get the feeling she would stomp her feet if she were standing. Her temper is honestly nothing short of adorable. I get out of the truck, circle around to her side, and open the door. She sits primly in her seat, not moving an inch.
Stubborn.
“You can either get out on your own, or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you,” I threaten.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, little girl.” I don’t mean to call her that, but the endearment just flows naturally between us, and the quickness that she unbuckles and puts her hand in mine tells me she’s affected by this chemistry between us too.
“Good girl.”
Charity looks at me with confusion, but there’s a spark in her eyes. Is it desire or defiance? I shake my head and lead her into the restaurant. We are quickly seated because the place is practically empty. She looks uncomfortable as she shifts and fidgets in her seat.
“Relax, look around,” I say, encouraging her to calm down.
