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By the grace of God, she plops the sack on the center console with a huff and buckles her seatbelt.
“Okay, now speak up.” She situates herself in a comfortable position, kicking off her shoes and folding her legs in the seat to sit criss-cross applesauce style.She looks so damn cute.For a second, I actually feel bad for tricking her.
“Did you really think I was going to tell you? I just needed you to grab the snacks from the back. Mission accomplished,” I reply with a smirk.
“Are you serious,” she groans. “That’s the last time I do anything nice for you. You’re seriously such an asshole,” she adds, folding her arms against her chest in protest.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing you're marrying my brother and not an asshole like me, right?” I quip.
Silence fills the air. Pin-dropping, awkward silence.
Why the hell did I just say that?This is exactly why I shouldn’t even attempt to make small talk with her.
Skylar clears her throat, collecting herself before quickly changing the subject.
Thank God for small mercies.
“When did you get all these snacks?” She asks, opening the sack to sort through it.
“I ran into the gas station and got a few things while you were in the bathroom. I figured we could eat something small to hold us over until lunch. We’ll be in Amarillo in about an hour, we can stop for food there.”
“Wow,” she scoffs. “Powdered donuts, sour gummy worms, and Hot Cheetos. Quite the combination,” she adds, arching a brow.
“You forgot to mention Dr. Pepper,” I smirk, tilting my head towards the maroon and white bottle in the bag.
“Oh my God,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “You're worse than a kid.”
“Junk food is the ultimate road trip food, everybody knows that,” I retort while pulling the Hostess powdered donuts from the bag. I rip open the package and pop one into my mouth, groaning as the sweetness hits my taste buds.
“Give me one,” she says impulsively, swiping the package from my lap before digging in to grab a donut. She pushes the pastry into her mouth, closing her eyes and nodding as she chews. I can’t help but chuckle at how she looks like she’s died and gone to heaven.
“Holy shit,” she drawls out between groans. “I forgot how good these things are. I can’t remember the last time I had artificial sugar.” She slowly sucks her fingers into her mouth, one by one, licking off the leftover powder.
Fuck me. The sight of her plump lips wrapping around her fingers floods my mind with an array of dirty thoughts. Thoughts I shouldnotbe having about my soon-to-be sister-in-law. The sound of her soft moans has my dick reacting in a way that could embarrass me if I don’t get my shit together real fast.
Not giving my brain the option to continue down this thought spiral, I keep our conversation going,keep myself on track.
“What do you mean you can’t remember the last time you had artificial sugar?” I ask, my brows pinched together in genuine shock. “Who the hell doesn’t have junk food every once in a while?”
“You know how Elliot is,” she exhales. “He treats his body like a literal temple. Our diet pretty much only consists of whole foods, minus casually drinking at social events.” I don’t miss the way she rolls her eyes, like a kid whose parents just told them they couldn't have candy at the checkout counter.
So Elliot has her on his life-sucking diet plan too?
I will never for the life of me understand why anyone would willingly choose to be with that guy. He’s nothing but a self-centered, control freak. Elliot Thompson was born to be in love with himself and himself only. I don't think his capacity for love goes beyond that.
“Sounds like a pretty boring life to me,” I scoff, spinning the cap off the Dr. Pepper bottle before bringing it to my lips. I tilt my head back, savoring the way the crisp, carbonated liquid burns down my throat.
“Oh, so you’re assuming that our life must be miserablebecause we eat healthy?”
“Prove me wrong then,” I reply, raising the bottle in the air. “Tell me, what do you and Elliot do for fun? What do you enjoy doing in your free time?”
She pauses for a second, her brows furrowed like she’s digging deep in her brain to find a recent memory.
“We went to a happy hour a few weeks ago at a new sky bar downtown. You could see the entire Dallas skyline from our table. It was amazing.” I narrow my eyes, noticing that her tone of voice doesn't match the somber look on her face. She’s trying her best to make it sound exciting, yet her expression is nothing short of dull.
“That doesn't count,” I reply, shaking my head. “Name one thing that you do together that doesn't involve work.”
Silence fills the cab as she pauses to think. Her cheeks flush with a rosy tint of red, almost as if she’s embarrassed to tell me.
