5. June #2
I want to point out that I didn’t thank him, but I know my words will only be wasted on deaf ears.
The man’s so…I don’t know. Confident? Cocky?
Arrogant? Okay, so those are all basically synonyms, but my point stands.
The man doesn’t have a humble bone in his body, and he knows he has me.
I am hungry. Picking up the sandwich, I take a bite.
When the explosion of flavor catches me off guard, a moan slips out of me, and I touch my lips, chewing slowly. Okay, so it’s good. Like, really good.
Reading my mind, Ford repeats, “You’re welcome.”
I can feel his stare, but instead of meeting it, I keep my focus on the sandwich. It really is delicious. The only thing that would make it better is Quasimodough’s offspring. Now that would take this sandwich to the next level.
“It’s the mustard,” he explains as if he’s reading my mind. “For a kick-ass sandwich, you gotta use a solid deli mustard.”
“It’s really yummy.”
“Best sandwich you’ve ever had?” he questions.
I hesitate, wiping the corner of my mouth with my thumb. “Close.”
“What would make it better?”
With a smile, I answer, “Quasimodough.”
The guy nearly chokes on his sandwich. “What?”
“The true love of my life,” I answer.
“Like, the hunchback in the bell tower?”
Unable to hold it in any longer, I let out a laugh, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. “It’s my sourdough starter,” I explain.
“The hunchback made you want to get into sourdough?”
“No.” My shoulders shake even harder with amusement. “My sourdough starter is named Quasimodough. As in bread dough.”
“You named your sourdough starter?”
“Everyone names their sourdough starters,” I argue. “And honestly, even if it wasn’t a trend, I would still have named my sourdough starter.”
His nod is slow as he chews his bite, studying me. Either he’s genuinely intrigued, or he’s really trying hard not to make fun of me, but I can’t decide which.
Swallowing, he prods, “Why?”
“Why would I have still named my sourdough starter even if it wasn’t a trend?” I ask.
He nods.
“Because it’s important to name the things you love. And Quasimodough is like a child to me.”
“A child, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I like the name.”
“Thanks. I came up with it all by myself.”
Amusement toys at the edge of his lips. "You're a clever little thing.”
“Hardly little,” I quip. I don’t know why I say it. I shouldn’t. No one wants to discuss a fat girl’s weight, even if the girl in question is pretty freaking comfortable in her own skin. The truth is, it just slipped out of me, and now? Now, I’d give anything to take it back.
He leans back in his seat, studying me with the same intensity as before. “Guess it’s subjective.”
“What is?” I ask.
“The definition of little.” He shifts forward and takes another bite of his sandwich, brushing the crumbs from his fingertips.
“As long as he can toss you around in the bedroom, then I think the description fits.” He hesitates.
“Just so we’re clear, and yes, I know I’m about to make you uncomfortable, but I’m not one for tiptoeing around sensitive topics, and I think this is something you need to hear, so here it goes.
A lot of men prefer something to hold on to when they’re fucking a person.
” He smirks. “Now, I’ve never made sourdough.
Actually don’t cook much in general,” he adds.
“Only a few things I keep in my back pocket in case a pretty girl stops by, but I’m glad you approve of the sandwich. ”
There it is again. The innocent flirting I’m used to being exposed to anytime we’re in the same room. It’s harmless. And disingenuous, if I’m being honest. My lips turn down, and he cocks his head, catching the minor shift in my demeanor.
“What’d I say this time?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” He finishes the last bite of his sandwich.
“Something wrong with calling it as I see it? Or are you and Bryan more serious than you let on?” He gasps.
“Does my June Bug have a boyfriend?” His whistle cuts through the silence.
“Damn, June. I mean, I get it. I felt like I was interrupting at the coffee shop, but letting yourself be tied down already? Without even…playing the field?” He shakes his head. “Breaking my heart over here.”
I snort. “Whatever, Jeep.”
He gasps. “Not you, too.”
“I mean, it’s kind of fitting,” I argue. “You love a good bumpy ride—”
“Hell yeah, I do.”
“You’re also fun for a quick spin with the top down,” I continue. “But are you economical or, you know, a solid long-term type of car?” I give him a pointed look. “Nah. People buy Jeeps for the experience. For the adventure. Then, they settle down with something reliable. Something…dependable.”
“Like a Camry or a Civic?” he offers.
I beam back at him. “Exactly.”
“Or, uh, what’s that other car? A Volkswagen Beetle, perhaps? Also known as a…Bug? As in, June Bug? All the curves in all the right places?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, unwilling to give in and laugh even harder. “Man, you really had to work for that one, didn’t you?”
“Hey, you gotta work with what you got, and you, my dear June Bug, have it all.”
“Seriously? Is there an off-switch on you?”
His eyes brighten. “Yeah, but you gotta spread your legs to get to it.”
“Ford!” I screech. My face is on fire, and my mastication muscles are screaming from grinning so hard. I can’t help it, though. Is this guy for real?
“Come on, you gotta admit you walked into that one,” he argues.
He’s right. I did. I don’t know how he does it. How he has a way of being so over the top, it would be annoying if he wasn’t so…I don’t know, down to earth or self-aware or…charismatic at the same time? It’s…I don’t know. I don’t know what it is, but—
My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I set down the sandwich. Brushing off my fingers, I pull out my cell and read the message. It’s from Bryan.
Bryan
Looking forward to tonight
I peek up at Ford, then look back at my phone as my heart picks up its pace. The question is, did the text cause it to rise, or are the glowing emeralds pinning me in place the culprit? I shove the thought aside and type my response.
Me
Me, too.
“Bryan?” Ford assumes.
I set my phone face down on the counter. “We should probably get started.”
With a slow nod, he scoots closer to me and grabs the edge of my laptop, turning it to face him a bit more. “All right, let’s see what we’re working with.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he scans my notes, his head bobbing up and down. “All right, well, that’s wrong.”
I gasp. “What’s wrong?”
“Shush. Let Daddy do his work.” I roll my eyes but stay quiet while he continues mumbling things under his breath. “You almost got that part, but, hmm. Let’s see.”
He smells good. Like shampoo and deodorant.
I peek over at him. He really is a good-looking guy.
It’s like Brad Pitt, the main character of Sons of Anarchy, and Ryan Gosling all got together to make a baby.
Sandy brown hair left a little longer on top and trimmed at the sides.
Golden-green eyes that I swear change color depending on his emotions.
Sunkissed skin with not a single freaking pimple, and any hint of a blemish or a scar only manages to make the guy look more attractive. And his jaw line?
Any girl would be lucky to nibble on that thing.
Whoa, there. Where the heck did that thought come from?
My neck jerks to the side and back to the laptop screen.
Still, we’re kind of close. Proximity-wise.
Should I move away a little? Give us some more space?
His forearm skims against mine as he reaches for the touch pad on the keyboard.
Has he realized how close we’re sitting?
I mean, he started it. He’s the one who sat next to me, not the other way around.
Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe it’s normal to sit like this.
If he were Violet, would I care? Would I think we were too close?