Page 40 of A Dash of You

Why am I noticing all these things? And it must be odd that I am here, hence why he asked if I’m all right.

“Yes. Sorry. Everything’s fine. Shelby let me off work early. Well, she demanded I go home to rest. But I thought, if you haven’t already eaten, I brought lunch… as a thank you.” I hold up the medium size paper bag. “Chicken and fries. Do you eat carbs? Because well you look like… that, so maybe you don’t.” I wave my free hand, tracing the air of his figure. “Not that I’m checking you out. You’re just kind of hard to miss.” I huff out a breath.Dear God.Make it stop.“Wow, that was embarrassingly long.”

He blinks with a grimace, and it looks like he’s suppressing a genuine smile. Why doesn’t he ever let me truly see his smile? I bet it’s beautiful.

He takes a step forward and accepts the bag, grazing his fingers with mine. “I eat carbs, Sora,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“Good. That’s good.” I mentally roll my eyes. “Anyway. I’ll let you eat in peace.” I want to bolt out of here in a full-blown sprint, which makes me wished I ran more. I go to exit his shop, taking what’s left of my pride.

“Wait.” His deep voice seems to echo off the walls.

I don’t dare face him, but I instantly feel his presence. The warmth coating my back.

“Did you eat yet?”

I shake my head, lacking speech but turn slightly, capturing the sight of his large form.

“Have lunch with me?”

Such a simple question causes my heart to race. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

We both sit on his sucky ass couch, but I ignore the roughness and the way the old spring stabs my left ass cheek. I also pretend to ignore how it claws at my sore back.

On the table in front of us, he lays the food on top of the bag; me going first as I plop a fry into my mouth. I am starving. Tasting the deliciousness of the greasy food, I hold back a moan. This differs significantly from the meals I had cooked for me. I miss indulging in foods like these. Reminds me of my father, and how he’d always take us to the burger place near the trailer park.

As I bite into another fry with the grease hitting my tongue, a moan escapes this time, and Logan swallows in a lustful stare. I’m also hyper aware that if I move an inch, my leg will brush up against Logan’s.

“How’s your back today?” Every time he asks, his eyes darken fiercely.

I shrug. “I definitely feel like someone threw me down a flight of stairs, but nothing a little aspirin can’t fix.”

With a darkened sigh, he leaves the couch, heading toward the back. Not a minute later, he returns with a pillow. “Here. Move up slowly.”

I do just that and he slips the pillow gently behind me, the softness instantly taking the pressure off my back.

“Thank you. That feels better.” I slink back into its comfort. The lingering scent of his swirls around me and I’m almost positive this is the pillow he sleeps on.

“You’re welcome.” The couch dips next to me. “But stop feeling like you owe me.”

The food. He must think I brought him lunch to owe him. Well, he might be right. But this is also an excuse to see him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling that way. You’ve done a lot for me so far and it’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t mind.” He manhandles his fried chicken tender before tossing it between his full lips.

“Thank you.”

“And stop saying thank you,” he mumbles with a full mouth.

“Why would I stop saying thank you?”

“Because it’s unnecessary.” He untwists the cap to his water, and I watch as his throat bobs with each swallow.

He has a nice neck, I oddly notice. It’s strong. He gives me a water and I start to say thank you but then stop.

“I thought you were having the place painted?” I scan the room.

He pauses mid-chew, then clears his throat. “They had to reschedule.”

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