Page 26 of When It's Us
I arch a brow at her as she indicates the flannel hanging off her frame. “Is that what you think I do?”
She cocks her head at me, those blue eyes sparkling in the fading daylight. “Isn’t it? You’ve got that whole lumberjack vibe going on. You live in the woods like some reclusive Paul Bunyan. You clearly own a flannel. I’m surprised you don’t wear suspenders.”
I lift a brow at her.
“You know, like the Brawny paper towel guy? Only way more annoying.”
I huff out a laugh and turn toward the van.
“Come on, California. Let’s go get some food. Maybe it’ll help your mood. You haven’t eaten much today. You’re like Hank and Wren’s girls when they haven’t had milk in two hours. And I, for one, am starving.”
I rummage around in the back of the van for a new shirt that isn’t covered in sweat.
She watches as I shove my shorts down and step out, grabbing for my jeans. Her eyes linger on the fabric covering my cock. She tries to hide it, but I see the heat there—the same look she gave me the first time she saw my Prince Albert piercing and practically dropped to her knees like I was dessert.
“Holy shit,” she whispers, stunned. “You’re pierced?”
My grin is lazy. “Think you can take it?”
“You’re stripping, right out here in the open?” she asks, mouth agape, eyes moving around the surrounding area.
It’s secluded enough that no one can see me unless they walk right up on our campsite.
If I ever questioned whether or not she’s into me—I never have—I know the truth because as I step into my jeans and yank them up over my thighs and ass, her eyes track the movement before continuing a slow perusal up the rest of my body.
“Get changed,” I say, and that seems to snap her out of whatever dirty little thoughts were swirling through her mind, because she blinks twice, then nods resolutely and turns to unzip her suitcase.
Ginger
Thedinerisn’tfar,and my stomach growls as we pull into the parking lot ten minutes later.
We head inside—me on very painful feet that are slowly starting to feel better due to the gentle and surprisingly thoughtful care the giant in front of me took with them.
I’m immediately hit with a wall of the most delicious scents I’ve ever experienced. Everything smells fried, and I swear I can hear my arteries clogging up just breathing the air.
A waitress in a white button front dress uniform covered in a blue and white striped apron calls out to us as she passes by, two trays laden with food in her hands.
“Sit where you like, and someone will be with you shortly.”
I follow behind Hutch, keeping a safe distance from him and all that muscle. Filthy images of him back at the campsite, stripping out of his pants, run through my mind. I’d turned around to get my own change of clothes and robbed myself of the sight of all those intricate tattoos and bronzed golden skin.
God, I have got to get a fucking grip.
I clear my throat and pick up a menu after sliding into the red vinyl booth across from him. A glance around tells me that this is one of those old-timey diners with tiny juke boxes at every table,and the servers and kitchen staff are all dressed era appropriately. It’s kind of cute in a cheerful, kitschy kind of way.
The menus are huge, made of thick cardstock, and covered in those plastic folder things. As I open them, I wonder when the last time these things were wiped down, hoping it was more recent than not. I’ll order and then wash my hands. I haven’t since we hiked anyway, so they could use it.
It takes almost no time for Hutch to peruse the menu and then close it, sliding it to the end of the table. I glance up at him, but his gaze is fixed out the window. I look over the menu while the waitress who greeted us saunters up to the table.
“Hey there,” she says cheerfully. “Can I get y’all something to drink?” Her accent is definitely southern, something I hadn’t noticed when we first arrived, and when I look up at her, she’s got her glass-eyed gaze fixed on the man across from me, a wide grin on her face.
“Water’s good for me,” he says and meets my eyes over my menu.
“Water is fine for me too, thanks,” I say.
The waitress bobs her head, never taking her eyes off Hutch. “Ya’ll ready to order?”
Hutch glances at me again, and I nod.
