Page 49 of When Sparks Fly

My eyes appreciate his body as he rounds the front of the truck and climbs in.

When the truck comes to life, I’m not even a little surprised when Alan Jackson is playing quietly on the radio. Sutton shoots me a grin and I bite my lip to keep from smiling too wide.

He throws the truck into reverse and puts his right hand on the back of my seat. His smile widens when he sees me eyeing him.

In a single, swift motion, he backs up the winding gravel drive to the street. These panties are ruined. Why is that so sexy?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He pauses momentarily before putting the truck in drive, expecting me to answer.

“Like what?” I fib, turning my eyes to the street.

He breathes a laugh and interlaces our fingers on the console. I refuse to ask where we’re going. At this point, I’m just along for the ride.

His voice is quiet and deep. “You like barbecue?”

I glance sidelong at him.

He grins. “Alright, then.” After he takes two lefts leaving Nana’s, I have an inkling where we’re headed. Granger’s BBQ is the best in town and I’m pleased when he pulls in and parks alongside countless other trucks. I move to get out with him, but he squeezes harder on my hand, holding me in place. I nearly get whiplash when I turn back to look at him. What the fuck?

His eyes are deadly serious, his chin lowered like a puma preparing to strike. “Don’t touch that door.”

Pulling my head back, I blink. “I thought—"

Releasing my hand, he holds my gaze. His voice is lethal, but a different tension builds in me as he enunciates each syllable. “Do not touch that door.” Then he gets out of the truck.

He extends a hand to me after opening my door.

“All you had to do was say you wanted to open the door,” I grumble, taking it.

The truck door slams closed behind me, not as hard as I interpret, and Sutton leans into me with his lips by my ear. “I wanted to open the door.”

A mischievous gleam fills his eyes when he puts space between us.

One side of my mouth tips up. “Yes, sir.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His hand is warm on the small of my back as he guides me toward the door. I don’t need a chaperone or a guide. I haven’t needed anyone for a long time. But I don’t move away from his touch, frankly, because it’s driving me a little bit wild and my core is throbbing already. Fiercely independent or not, Sutton is charming, especially given that nothing feels forced. His actions seem as natural as breathing for him.

The warmth disappears as he opens the restaurant door, allowing me to pass through.

During the two-minute wait to order at the counter, a couple of middle-aged men at a corner table wave politely. Sutton gives them a returning two-finger wave. Habitually, I scan the seating area, but the place is broken into smaller rooms and I can’t see much. Something is setting me on edge.

At the counter, Sutton gestures for me to order first. I opt for a sausage wrap. He glances at me briefly as I order from the clerk and follows up with his own request, which includes over a pound each of brisket, sausage, and sides. I can’t imagine he’s going to put away all of the food he’s ordered and I purse my lips. Far be it from me to judge another person’s eating preferences.

The cashier gives us a table number and Sutton leads me to the only available table, not far from the men who greeted him earlier. We have to pass their way, so he casually stops and has a short conversation about cattle, something I know close to zilch about. I tune in as best as possible. He makes a point to introduce me, but between my lack of knowledge on the subject and the feeling of being under the microscope, I can’t fully focus. Plastering what I hope is a bright, casual smile on my face, I continue to scan the room as nonchalantly as possible.

We move to the table by the window. The front door dings as someone exits and the cashier from the front counter comes around with our food. I’m even more sure now that I see what all Sutton ordered that he will not be eating all of it.

I eye the food speculatively. He sends an inviting look across the brisket at me. “If you ask nicely, I’ll share.” That mischievous grin has returned and fiery butterflies take flight in my chest.

I hold my sausage wrap up and show it off with a little shake. “I’m fine.”

An engine revs nearby and my eyes shoot out the window. At the exit of the parking lot, Colt is on a motorcycle about to pull onto the street, but his eyes are on me and he winks. A shiver runs down my spine as I turn my gaze back to the table.

Sutton’s eyes narrow. He looks out the window and back to me questioningly.

I shake my head and lean forward to take a bite of my wrap, held over the disposable tray to avoid dripping grease everywhere.

“Maci.” My name on his lips does things to me it shouldn’t. I meet his narrowed eyes. “What was that?” It’s clear from his tone he isn’t going to be brushed off again. Reading my mind, he says, “And do not tell me nothing.”

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