Page 101 of Force a Date

And I do.

In more ways than exposing how I can get a one-up on him. Hudson savagely takes me and I’m coming again with his name on my lips within seconds.

It doesn’t take much for him to follow suit, grunting in my ear and telling me how much he wants to fuck me again already.

Yeah, well, each time he does, it’s tenfold.

Because not only does he fuck my body, but he fucks my head and heart into believing that one day this could be real.

twenty-eight

. . .

LIV

“Can it be pink? And can we have these, Mommy?” Rory shoves her cup of cinnamon donut holes up at me and I smile.

Fuck, yes, we can because they’re amazing.

“Got it,” I reply, popping another one into my mouth. “What else?”

“Definitely the freakin’ truffle BLT,” Mia adds, sipping on her raspberry lemonade. “And this drink.”

Rory taps my upper thigh. “Mommy, can the truck be pink? Can I name it?”

Cupping the back of her head, I pull her closer to me so I can bring her into a hug. We’re at a food truck festival and trying as many things as we can stuff into our stomachs. I’m starting to feel it now.

“I think pink would be awesome.”

“Can we name it The Pink Truck?”

I mean…simple, short, and easy to remember.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I claim. “I wonder if most of our food could be pink?”

“Or pink plates,” Mia says. “You can’t make bread pink.”

“Yes, we can!” Rory retorts, jumping up and down in excitement. “Mommy, pink bread!”

The wheels in this little girl’s head are moving a million miles a minute and so are mine. Not only is everything we’ve tried delicious, but I’ve gotten to begin a list of ideas for us to do for our truck.

“I’d have to look into that,” I state. “Let’s go try that nacho truck.”

Rory and Mia’s gaze both fall to the yellow and green vehicle and, I swear, they begin to finish their food quicker.

I have no idea how we’re still eating. With the excitement of the day and everything there is to try, we’re on a mission and taking it very seriously.

“We have eight more trucks,” Mia declares evenly, glancing down at the list of trucks we received earlier. “I think we might need to split it.”

I nod because, even though I feel okay, the thought of eight more dishes might not agree with me at the end of the night. “Taste test and move on.”

“With the three of us, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Let’s do it, Mommy,” Rory forges on, already striding toward the truck with determined steps.

I chuckle, following my daughter as she gets in line while Mia stands next to me, studying the menu closely.

“Chicken or beef, Rory?” Mia asks her, shortening the details because we’ve come up with a system. We know what each other likes and doesn’t like, so we only need the important details to ensure not having to pick off a bunch of things.

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