Chapter Three #2
Then he kissed me. His lips pressed against mine, firm and warm, and my brain short-circuited completely. One of his hands cupped the back of my head, while the other settled on my hip, pulling me closer, and I went willingly.
The kiss deepened. His tongue swept across my bottom lip, and I opened for him, tasting mint and something darker that made my knees weak. My hands found his shoulders, holding on because standing suddenly required more coordination than I possessed.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathing hard and possibly making sounds that should’ve been embarrassing but weren’t because he was looking at me like I’d hung the moon.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Very okay. Extremely okay. On a scale of one to okay, I’m somewhere around eleven.”
His mouth curved into that smile again. “Good.”
We stood there for a moment, the valley spreading out below us and the sky turning from gold to pink to purple. Diesel’s hand stayed on my hip, his thumb tracing small circles through my shirt, and I let myself lean into him, solid and safe and real.
“Hungry?” he asked eventually.
“Starving.” I hadn’t eaten since the Danish this morning, too nervous to keep anything down.
“There’s a diner about ten minutes from here. Nothing fancy, but the food’s good.”
“Fancy is overrated. I peaked at Budget Foods.”
“My kind of guy.”
We walked back to the motorcycle. Diesel helped me with the helmet this time, his fingers gentle as they adjusted the strap.
I climbed back onto the bike, settling into the seat like I’d been doing this for years instead of approximately twenty minutes.
My hands found Diesel’s waist again, and this time the contact felt less like necessity and more like privilege.
The engine rumbled to life, and we rolled back onto the road.
Ten minutes stretched into twelve then fifteen as we wound down from the hills and back toward civilization. My stomach growled loud enough that I worried Diesel might hear it over the engine. Embarrassing, but unavoidable when a person’s diet consisted primarily of coffee and stress.
The diner appeared on the right side of the road, a squat building with faded red siding and a neon sign that proclaimed “Millie’s” in cheerful pink letters.
Three pickup trucks and a sedan occupied the parking lot.
Not crowded, but not empty either. The sweet spot of restaurant occupancy that suggested decent food without the wait.
Diesel pulled into a spot near the entrance and killed the engine. Silence rushed back in, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal and my chaotic thoughts. I pulled off the helmet and attempted to smooth down my hair, which had decided to stage a rebellion during the ride.
“Your hair’s fine,” Diesel said, swinging off the bike.
“My hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.”
“Still fine.” He took my helmet and secured both of them to the bike. “Come on. Their burgers are huge, just like my appetite.”
“You had me at huge.” My stomach endorsed this statement with another growl.
Gravel crunched under our feet as we crossed the parking lot. The air smelled like fryer oil and grilled meat, the universal perfume of diners everywhere. Diesel reached the door first and held it open, gesturing for me to go ahead.
As I passed him, my hand brushed his thigh. By accident. I was sticking to that claim. Heat flared in his eyes, but I rushed past, suddenly losing my bravado.
Inside, the diner looked exactly like every other small-town establishment I’d ever been in.
Vinyl booths lined the windows, their seats cracked but clean.
A counter ran along the back wall, six stools bolted to the floor at regular intervals.
Pictures covered every available surface—local sports teams, faded newspaper clippings, someone’s very optimistic attempt at landscape photography.
A woman in her sixties looked up from behind the counter, her face creasing into a smile when she spotted Diesel. “Hey, hon. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been busy, Millie.” Diesel returned the smile, and something about the easy familiarity between them made my shoulders relax slightly. “This is Ollie.”
Millie’s sharp, assessing eyes landed on me. Whatever she saw must have passed muster because her smile widened. “Nice to meet you, honey. Any friend of Diesel’s gets the good booth.”
“There’s a good booth?” I asked. They all looked the same to me, making me wonder which one she was talking about.
“Corner one. Best view of the town.” She grabbed two menus from beside the register and led us toward the back corner, her sensible shoes squeaking slightly on the linoleum. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Diesel said, sliding into one side of the booth.
“Make that two.” I sat across from him, accepting the menu Millie handed over. The plastic cover was sticky, and several items had been crossed out and rewritten in ballpoint pen. I loved how authentic it felt.
Millie returned with two mugs and a pot of coffee that looked like it could strip paint. She filled both mugs to the brim, steam rising in lazy curls. “Special tonight is meatloaf. I’ll give you two a minute to decide.”
She disappeared back toward the kitchen, leaving us alone in our corner booth with our paint-stripper coffee. I wrapped my hands around the mug, appreciating the warmth even though the evening was balmy. I needed something to do with my hands that didn’t involve fidgeting or making awkward gestures.
“So.” The word escaped even though I had no idea what else to say. “You come here often?”
I’d never claimed to be good at flirting, and it was showing. I needed to spend more practice time in the mirror.
Diesel’s lips slightly parted. “Did you just use a pickup line on me after I already picked you up?”
Now I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “Maybe. Words are hard right now.”
“Why?” He leaned back, one arm stretched along the top of the booth, completely at ease while I was busy having a minor crisis across from him.
Say you have to use the bathroom then use a side exit.
Don’t you dare run away like a chicken. He’s hot and you’re horny. Tough it out.
Will both of you shut up?
Great, I was referring both halves of my brain.
“Because you’re—” I gestured vaguely at all of him, my hand flapping up and down like I was shooing away a fly.
“And I’m—” I gestured at myself with significantly less enthusiasm.
“And this is a date, which you confirmed, so now my brain is trying to process that while also remembering how to function as a human person, and clearly I can only do one of those things at a time.”
I took a deep, shuddering breath, wishing the booth would swallow me whole.
Diesel’s expression softened. “Breathe, Ollie.”
“Right. Breathing. I know how to do that.” I took another breath. Then another, feeling like I was seconds from passing out. “Sorry. I’m not usually this much of a dweeb.”
“You’re not a dweeb.”
A bark of laughter escaped me. “I used a pickup line on someone who’s already on a date with me. I wouldn’t blame you if you dropped me off and never spoke to me again. Or made me walk home.”
Diesel’s gorgeous grin made me take another deep breath. Did he know how devastating he was to someone’s nervous system? Probably used that smile like a loaded weapon because I sure as hell felt it target locked on me.
“It was kind of cute.”
My hands tightened around the mug. “Cute.” Just what a guy wanted to hear. Not sexy or charming. Freaking cute.
“Yeah.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and those blue eyes gazed into mine. “You gonna relax, or do I need to do something about that?”
“What would you do about it?” My brain shot straight to that tropical island, my tongue licking droplets of water from his skin. My cock perked right up, eager for whatever Diesel had in mind.
I was just as eager, though I forced my face not to show my enthusiasm.
“Could think of a few things.” His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but was significantly more dangerous. “Most of them involve getting you to stop thinking so hard.”
My brain stuttered to a halt then rebooted with a series of images that were absolutely not appropriate for a family diner and didn’t care. My cock was doing a happy dance in my jeans, making me thankful the table was blocking anyone from noticing. “You are so not helping.”
Diesel ran his tongue over his lower lip and I caught my whimper before it rushed out. “Not trying to help. Trying to distract you.”
“It’s working.”
“Good.” He picked up his menu, breaking eye contact and giving me a moment to remind my body we were in public. It ignored me. “What are you thinking? Burger? Sandwich?”
That wasn’t what I’d been thinking about.
“Burger sounds good.” It was a miracle my voice came out steady instead of breathy. “With fries. And possibly everything else on the menu because I forgot to eat today.”
“Nervous?”
And very aroused.
“Terrified.” The admission slipped out easily, surprising both of us. Thankfully that was the only admission that escaped. “In a good way. Mostly. I think.”
Please shut up before you admit that your dry spell is more like a desert and you want to climb onto this table to offer your body to him.
“First date in a while?” Diesel’s eyes softened.
“First date ever with someone who looks like you.” I took a sip of coffee and immediately regretted it. The bitter liquid burned aggressively its way down my throat. I coughed, setting the mug down before it could do permanent damage. “Jesus. This coffee is lethal.”
Diesel looked seconds away from slapping my back. “Millie makes it strong. Builds character.”
“I have enough character already. It’s my esophagus I’m worried about.”
Diesel curled his lips in, but his shoulders shook from the laughter he was fighting against.
I fought against my own laughter, realizing how ridiculous I sounded.
Maybe this could work. Maybe I could get through dinner without completely embarrassing myself.
The odds weren’t great, but they were improving. I hoped.
Millie reappeared with her order pad. “What’ll it be, boys?”
“Burger, medium rare, everything on it,” Diesel said. “Fries.”