Page 71 of Unexpected Hero

“Yes.”

“I guess I have a lot to think about.”

“Before I tell you more, where is your head at with this so far?”

Her laugh surprises me. Almost everything about her is unexpected. I never know what her reaction is going to be. But I’m starting to like it.

“You can’t tell where my head is?”

She takes a big bite of her biscuit. A few drops of honey smudge over her lips. What I wouldn’t give to clean that off with my tongue.

Ignoring my sudden food fantasy, I shrug. “No. Not at all. But you seem unsettled.”

“I’m conflicted.”

Her lips squish to one side. She’s so damn cute.

“What about? Ask me anything.”

“I don’t think I need to hear more. What happens at the club isn’t what has me conflicted.”

“Then what’s worrying you?”

She looks away, her cheeks reddening. “Because if I got the job, you and I could only be friends.”

As soon as the words are out, she takes her first bite of potato salad. When her lips seal over the fork tines, she moans delicately and closes her eyes.

Pointing her fork at her plate, she licks her lips. “Mmm. That is so damn good it makes me wanna smack my dog. Where did you get it?”

I chuckle. “Entenmann’s.”

“Like the donut company?”

“No. It’s owned by a sweet old lady from Mississippi named Miss Kathy Entenmann. She makes the best Southern food I’ve ever had. And her smile lights up the room. She always comes out of the kitchen to give me a hug when I pick up my order. Her entire family works with her. Husband, kids, grandkids. All of them. Her sister bakes the desserts.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet. We should all be so lucky one day, right?” She digs her fork into the potato salad. “My compliments to Miss Kathy.”

She opens wide, unabashedly savoring another big bite. My cock twitches as I watch her enjoying herself. Taking care of her soothes something inside of me I didn’t know needed relief.

After I enjoy a bite of my own, I ask, “What’s your food situation at the hotel?”

Her head kicks back, and her lips pucker. “Um. It’s fine. I have some of the food from the coffee shop leftover.”

“Still?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to the store when we’re done here. I won’t stand for you rationing cheese and crackers.”

“James,” she protests, making my alias sound like a scolding.

“Don’t—” I choke off the rest of that sentence. I almost told her not to call me that.

Son of a bitch.

Focus, man.

She puts her hands on her hips, which looks odd considering she’s seated. “Don’t what?”

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