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“Yeah.” I began backing up the truck into a spot. “There’s a steakhouse across the street we can eat at if you want something besides truck-stop meals.”
Fletcher nodded and closed his laptop before stretching, his shirt riding up to reveal those hard, toned abs. Fletcher refused to let his body go, and every morning, he woke up early to go on a run—his location always on so I could track him and make sure he was safe—and then he did push-ups, sit-ups, and a whole bunch of other shit that made me break out into a mini sweat just thinking about it.
“Cool. Let’s go then,” I said, turning the truck off.
Fletcher unbuckled and moved to the back of the cab to put his laptop away. I climbed out of the truck, patting my pocket to make sure the ring was still safely tucked away, which it was. I’d searched this route last night after picking up this load to find a good stopping point with decent food. I’d lucked out by finding a truck stop with a steakhouse across the street. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was nice enough, and it would provide a decent, well-balanced meal, which Fletcher and I both desperately needed after a couple of weeks of greasy truck-stop food.
Grabbing Fletcher’s hand in mine when he rounded the cab, I linked our fingers together and led him across the street. “I’m almost done with that cover,” he told me. “It’s been a bit of a pain in my ass though.”
“That’s your perfectionist side,” I teased. Fletcher’s anxiety was getting better with weekly therapy and daily medication instead of just taking medication as needed. But when he was making a cover or creating art, everything had to bejust right, or it was an absolute disaster in his eyes.
He bumped his shoulder with mine as I pulled open the door to the restaurant. He walked in ahead of me. “You’re not complaining when I’m—oh, hi. Table for two please,” he said to the hostess who popped up from behind the little stand.
I snickered because no doubt, Fletcher had been ready to say something that involved one of our body parts, if not two. Fletcher elbowed me in the stomach, making me grunt. He threw me a smirk over his shoulder before taking his seat at the booth we were led to. I sat on the other side. “God, I can’t wait to eat a big fucking steak,” he muttered, already skimming through the menu.
“Gonna get a plate to go?” I teased. His appetite had still not dimmed down a bit. His late night snacks drove me nuts sometimes.
“Not a bad idea,” he muttered. “My appetite is always out of control.”
I snickered because I knew I was the reason he was always hungry lately. This man had snacks that were the size of meals because of how much we fucked when I stopped for us to rest every night.
“Hi! My name is Daisy, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start you off with anything to drink?”
I glanced up at the perky blonde holding a tablet in her hand, a beaming smile on her face. “A coke for me,” I told her.
“Water. No ice,” Fletcher ordered next. “And can I go ahead and put in an order for an appetizer?”
She nodded. “Of course, hun.” I gritted my teeth at the way she battered her eyelashes at him. It annoyed me so much how much women and men flirted with Fletcher. He never reciprocated, but jeez, these people acted like I wasn’tright here. “What would you like?”
“I’ll take the spinach and artichoke dip and… let me also get an order of the corn nuggets.”
She nodded, too busy trying to get his attention to be appalled like most servers were at the amount of food he ordered for just an appetizer. “I’ll have that right out for you.”
She walked away without even asking me if I wanted to order an appetizer. Thankfully, I didn’t want to, but still. The matter of it still stood.
Bitch.
“Your skin is turning green,” Fletcher teased, nudging my leg under the table.
I snorted. “She’s into you.”
Fletcher leaned back in his seat. “Guess it’s a good thing I like dick then, huh?”
The server was already making her way back with the drinks, and she choked before quickly setting our glasses down, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I’ll have your appetizers out in a few minutes,” she mumbled before she scampered away, her imaginary tail between her legs.
I wasn’t even sorry her feelings had been hurt.
I sighed. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” I asked Fletcher.
He just shrugged, but his lips were tilted up the tiniest bit. I chuckled and shook my head.
This man of mine was truly a work of art.
Fletcher pulled my t-shirt up my torso, only separating our mouths long enough to yank it over my head. He was already down to his boxers, and his cock was tenting them, poking me against my hip.
“Christ, boy, you’re fucking eager tonight,” I groaned as he licked and sucked his way down my neck, no doubt marking me.
We really had a thing for marking each other. It was addictive, honestly. And I wore every single one of his marks proudly.
