Page 41 of Forbidden You

My curiosity is literally killing me at this point.

“Desperately,” I breathe out without shame, shooting her my most endearing smile with fluttering lashes.

“Don’t look at me, girl. I have no clue. He still arrives between nine and ten every morning, so I never thought to ask.”

“Oh, come on, Agnes! You must have some clue?” I whine.

“No idea.”

Dammit.

I guess I just have to find out for myself then.

***

I’m sitting on the couch with my legs spread out in front of me, the remote sitting on my lap while I watch Love Is Blind. Bodi dropped me off after work, telling me he was going to grab us some food, and I’ve been waiting for him with a roaring stomach ever since.

I tried prying a little more when he arrived at the office at nine thirty, but the man bent as much as steel. Making him cave, to anything for that matter, is going to be a bigger challenge than it was last summer.

Doesn’t he know you’re supposed to have a spinebeforeyou start sleeping together instead of after?

When the key in the lock and the front door opens, my nose instantly registers the smell of a delicious amount of grease and my neck stretches with an expecting smile.

“What did you bring?” I ask, feeling hopeful.

His gaze lands on mine and a mischievous grin raises the corner of his mouth. Slogging toward me, he holds up the bag and I clap like a seal when I notice the red and white Wendy’s bag while I pull myself a bit up to sit cross-legged.

YAY! But wait…

“You brought Wendy’s?” I question as something churns through my stomach.

He sits down beside me, kicking off his shoes. “Yeah.”

“But you hate Wendy’s.”

“I don’t hate it,” he argues as he pulls out the food from the bag. “I’m just not a complete fan.”

I keep my eyes trained on his face until he slowly turns his head to me.

“You hate it,” I announce.

The man despises junk food, and he doesn’t waste any shot to remind me.

His eyes roll, and I chuckle at the ridiculous look on his handsome face. “Fine, I hate it. But I ordered some fries and a salad.”

“What?” I screech incredulously. “You can’t order a salad at Wendy’s!”

“I’m pretty sure I just did.”

He hates it. But he still ordered it forme. Is it weird that my heart is thundering in my chest as I hold his gaze?

“No,” I argue. “I mean, who orders a salad at Wendy’s?”

“I did.” He gives me a dull look.

“You’re crazy. Don’t tell me you ordered me a salad too because you and I are going to have issues.”

Keeping his attention on me, he blindly pulls out a burger and hands it over.

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