76. Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Six
Mac
“Drive around for your total.”
The little speaker crackles its reply to our order, and I can’t help the lift at the corners of my mouth.
What can I say? Being in a coma puts a damper on a guy.
But now that I’ve been sprung free from the prison of germs, I’m feeling every bit of the feistiness that’s been stored for the last however many days I’ve been cooped up and out of commission.
It’s only made better by the tatted chauffer scowling at the road like it did him dirty.
“Wanna bet?” I ask as Jordan palms the wheel and gets us around the little curve in the lane.
“For?”
“Whether they recognize me.”
Jordan sighs. “I’d rather they didn’t. Can you change your face real quick?”
I mock a wounded gasp and touch a hand to my chest as we inch closer to the window. “How dare . You don’t like my face, Tyro?”
He snickers when I tuck my arms tight across my pecs and throw him my best fake-angry face.
“You hate my face.”
His eyes roll as he leans to the side and fishes his wallet from his pocket around the seatbelt. “I don’t hate your face.”
I scoff. “You definitely said you hate my face.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“So did.”
“I like your face. Now shut it.”
Jordan pulls up to the window, and my stomach is growling, and I snicker. “I knew it.”
“Wha?” He’s distracted by my comment when the window flings open and the employee on the other side barks a total at him. “I said I liked it. I’m the one that has to look at it every day.”
“ Excuse me ?”
Jordan’s head snaps to the side where the window sits wide open, with an employee wearing one of those old school aprons and a dirty look is staring at us.
“No, I was talking to my—Mac.” He throws a gesture my way as he attempts to juggle his card, the receipt and his wallet. “I was talking to him.”
The woman leans down and catches my gaze across the car. “You his Mac?”
I beam. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing he likes your face, then, dear.”
That pink flush takes over Jordan’s cheeks and I laugh.
“I suppose so,” I mumble through a cheeky grin and plant a hand on his thick thigh when he white knuckles the steering wheel. “He’s still getting used to it.”
The woman hums, a sideways glance thrown in Jordan’s direction before she returns her smile on me. “He’s a lucky man, honey. Don’t let him forget it.”
“ Never ,” I say to Jordan’s frozen profile, tossing the woman a grin. “You got a pen? Marker?”
The woman snorts, throws barking orders over her shoulder into the store, then hands one through the window.
I reach across Jordan and accept it, diving into the glove box next for a leftover takeout napkin. I quickly scroll my signature on the paper and hand them both back to the woman. “I don’t wanna see that for sale online—” I squint at her name tag. “ Birdie . Okay?”
With a toothy grin she accepts and nods. “Of course, Mac. Enjoy your face liking .” Smirking, Birdie hands out our bags of takeout burgers and Jordan can’t pull away from the window fast enough.
“ That is why,” he huffs.
I throw my hands up, though I’m snickering. “Birdie was nice, Tyro!”
“You gave her an autograph.” His lifted brow wings my way briefly as he makes our way through the lot and back out onto the street. “You know how much those things go for online?”
Shrugging, I dig around in the paper bag. “Even if she gets few hundred for it, I don’t care.”
“I don’t get it.” Jordan shakes his head. “Why?”
“Why not?” I mutter around a giant bite of cheeseburger. “Made her night at the least.”
Jordan blows out a breath that suggests he still doesn’t get it, but steals the carton of fries from my grip.
“You shouldn’t give away pieces of you for free.”
The words are a low rumble beneath his breath, so low that I question if I heard him right over the faint sound of the radio droning on.
And when I stare at his profile, waiting for him to repeat it for my response and all I get is that pink blush, I bite my lip to hold back my smile.
I could maybe get used to this .