Chapter 16 Margeaux
MARGEAUX
I have many reasons for not wanting to be in Paramount right now.
Fuck Dr. Jon. He doesn’t get to act like I came in like a tornado and ripped him out of his boring life and gave him a taste of technicolor that he now regrets.
It would be so much easier to be angry with him if his lips weren’t naturally pouty and slick from him licking them because he keeps checking me out.
A girl’s allowed to be flattered. Right?
“What are you doing here, Margeaux?” His tone is an adorable mixture of annoyed and something else. Not panicked. Flustered, maybe?
Is it bad that I think he gets cuter the angrier he seems? His dark brows get closer together and his cheeks get a little darker from his flush.
“Earth to Margeaux!” He snaps his fingers quickly beside my face, pulling me out of whatever trance he had me in.
“You mean you didn’t hear, Doc?” I ask. “I have to make a public apology to that douchebag, Brice Dickless,” I spit on the pristine sidewalk. Saying that asshole’s name—or a version of it—makes me feel like puking.
“Oh. Yea. I did hear that. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to go through all this.” And there is the sweet Jon I’m used to. He doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. I mean, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he had just one bad bone.
Neither of us says anything, just awkward shrugs and head scratches.
“Well, I gotta get to work,” Jon says, nudging his head behind me, towards the hospital.
“Uh, yea. I gotta go, too.” We start to walk our separate ways. “Hey, Jon?” He stops immediately, turns and gives me those cute, brown eyes that have my knees melting. “Uh, would you maybe wanna grab fries with me at that food truck? Those were the only good thing in this city.”
His eyes droop just a bit. Was he hoping I admitted that he was a good thing, too? Sorry to burst your bubble, Doc. I don’t forgive that easily. But he’s got a weekend to try and make things better between us, if he’s willing to take the bait I’m waving in front of his face.
“Y-yea. That would be nice. I go there most days for lunch, anyway. Is a later lunch okay? Like, around three?”
Hook. Line. And sinker.
“Yea. I don’t have my public showing until tomorrow morning. So, may as well have one good meal while I’m here, right?” Am I fucking giggling? Like an overeager schoolgirl? Lock it up, Marg.
Jon’s eyes soften and he gives me a matching smile. “See you then.”
It’s just fries!
I’ve changed into three different pairs of leggings for this date. Is it even a date? We’re two people, who are sexually attracted to each other, meeting at a specified time to talk and have French fries. It’s a fucking date.
I packed three pairs of black leggings. I decided to go with a high-waisted pair that has small skulls and crossbones all over it, and side pockets.
It’s such a blessing when leggings have pockets.
I paired it with a cropped sleeveless, white shirt, that’s sheer enough for my black sports bra to show through.
I make my way to the park that the food truck was at before. The all-black food truck with gold lettering comes into view. Side Chick. Such a funny name for a food truck. It’s perfect because the entire menu is side dishes and snacks, and they’re fucking delicious.
“Hey. Welcome back. Couldn’t stay away from Paramount, huh?” the person taking orders in the food truck says to me. They must see the absolutely puzzled look on my face because they laugh. “I’m Shaw. I own this truck. You were here not too long ago. You hung out with Jon.”
“We just had some fries,” I say nonchalantly, but I feel the blush creeping up my neck and cheeks. It wasn’t just fries.
“First time I’ve seen Jon have lunch with anyone. He’s more of a loner.”
He’s practically engaged. Has he never brought Paramount Barbie to eat here? I get the vibe that food trucks aren’t her jam.
“How long have you owned this truck?” I ask, desperate for a change in topic.
Shaw chuckles, tucking their shoulder-length, dark brown hair behind their ear.
“Got it. You don’t wanna talk about Jon.
” They wink at me. “I’ve had this truck for a couple of years now.
It’s way more fun than being in a hot and crowded kitchen, getting screamed at by pompous executive chefs who wish their dicks were half as long as their knives. ”
I snort a laugh, almost falling over. “Holy shit. Tell me how you really feel,” I say, still laughing. “What are you doing here, in Paramount? You seem too cool for this type of stuck-up town.”
“Psh. I am too cool for this town. But it’s my mission to teach people that food doesn’t have to be overpriced to be considered fine dining.
I make good money being one of the only food trucks in this city.
Plus, I’m my own boss, and set my own hours.
I can go anywhere with this truck. I like the ability to be nomadic and spontaneous.
” Shaw is my kinda person. “So, what are you having?”
“Umm…” I hesitate, scanning the menu.
“We’re sharing a large basket of fries, Shaw,” Jon says walking up behind me. He’s in his scrubs and his hair is a wavy mess, like he’s been tugging it and brushing his fingers through it all day.
“We’re sharing?” I ask, recalling we had our own baskets last time.
“Yea. Don’t want you to get too full if you see something else you want to try,” he says, licking those full lips of his.
You had me at french fries, Jon.
He may come off as a sweet guy with a good heart, but Dr. Jon Jacob is looking at me right now like he wants to make a bunch of bad decisions. And I have no intentions of stopping him.
“Hmm…I think I see a couple of things I may want to try.”