Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I placed my drink order first. “I’ll have a nonfat three-pump vanilla latte, low foam and extra hot.”
Chance squinted his eyes at me and turned to the waitress. “Did you get all that? She’ll have a hot two-pump chump with extra cream.”
Bertha—as her nametag indicated—didn’t look a bit amused. “We just have coffee, decaf or regular,” she said monotonously, holding a carafe.
“I’ll take a black coffee then.”
“Make it two,” he said.
She poured it into our cups. “I’ll be back to take your order.”
Chance was laughing at me as he shook a sugar packet.
I crossed my arms. “What’s so funny?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
“Did you really think you could order your frou-frou drink in a place like this?”
“Who doesn’t have lattes? Even McDonald’s has them!”
“We’ll get you a latte and a Happy Meal for dinner then—with a little toy inside. Will that make you happy?”
Shaking my head, I perused the menu. There was nothing here that I could eat. “Everything is so greasy.”
“Mmm. Bacon. A little fat once in a while won’t kill you.”
“I’ve already had my monthly allowance of fat…the chicken bites from yesterday.”
“Monthly allowance?”
“Yes. One cheat meal a month.” I sighed. “There is not one healthy thing on here. I seriously don’t know what to get.”
“No worries. I’ll order for you.”
“What? No.”
Chance lifted his finger. “Bertha, babe? We’re ready over here.”
God, he even had the ability to make that mean waitress blush.
“What’ll it be?”
He pointed to the menu. “I’ll have this dish you call heart attack on a platter. She’s just gonna have an order of plain rye toast, hold the butter.”
“Comin’ right up.”
“All I’m going to be having is dry toast?”
“No. You’ll be eating off my plate in no time. You just haven’t realized it yet. The toast is merely my way of showing you that you don’t really want the things you say you do. And many of the things you deem bad are really those that—deep down—you want the most.”
“Oh, really…”
“I see through you. The harder you try to be good, the more you’re starving to be bad. Not only are you going to eat some of my greasy food, but you’re going to eat it with my cock sauce all over it and love it.”
“Excuse me? Your what?”
Chance bent his head back in laughter before unzipping the pocket to his jacket. He slammed a small plastic bottle down on the table. It had a rooster on the front.
“Cock sauce. Also known as Sriracha—a Thai chili sauce. I never travel anywhere without it.”
Bertha brought over an oval plate piled high with scrambled eggs, home fries, sausage links, bacon, Canadian ham and corned beef hash. She placed it in front of Chance before handing me the small plate of toast.
He wasted no time squirting lines of the red sauce across the top of his food. He dug in, watching me as I looked at him.
Staring him down, I crunched my toast in an exaggerated bite, determined to keep myself from wanting any of it. Admittedly, I was famished.
To prevent myself from looking at the plate, I pried my eyes upward, focusing on his baseball cap. He’d bought it at the hotel gift shop and was wearing it backwards. It was a good look, really worked for him with his hair sticking out of the sides. A ray of sun streamed through the window of our booth, accentuating number thirteen blue again.
Damn.
His voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “You know you want it, Aubrey.”
Huh? Did he catch me checking him out, or was he talking about the food?
He cut a sausage link in half and attempted to feed me with his fork as he flashed a sexy smirk. “Come on. Just one piece.”
It smelled spicy…and delicious. Unable to resist, I opened my mouth and let him feed it to me. “Mmm,” I said as I chewed the juicy link slowly, closing my eyes and savoring every bite. When I opened my lids, Chance’s gaze was fixated on my lips.
“You want more?” he whispered huskily.
Saliva gathered in my mouth. “Yes.”
This time, he lifted a piece of bacon and fed it to me from his hand. I hated to admit it, but he was right about that sauce. It was so good on everything.
“More?”
I licked my lips. “Yeah.”
Chance fed me three more bites. When I let out a moan, he dropped his fork, and it made a loud clanking sound. “Jesus Christ. The food is good. But it’s not that good.”
My mouth was disgustingly full. “What do you mean?”
“When was the last time you were really good and rooted?”
“Rooted? What?”
“Fucked, Princess. When was the last time you were properly fucked?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“There is no way you could possibly have that kind of reaction to food unless you were completely hard up.” He wiggled his brows. “Prince Harry didn’t quite do it for you, did he?”