Page 71 of Love Puck

But all in all, Jillian knew her shit.

Jillian cleared her throat. “Yeah, of course.”

I nodded my head.

And then she got to work.

It didn’t take us long.

Well, it didn’t feel like a long time.

But it was.

We’d both missed the show.

Jillian reminded me a few times.

Finally, the last time I said, “Fuck the show. This is more important.”

Her eyes had gotten all glassy, and she’d given me a wobbly smile.

I stayed until she was completely up and running. For some reason, I needed to know everything worked, and that she had access to all the things she needed access to.

By then, we were both starving.

And tired.

But I knew if I went home, my brain wouldn’t be able to shut off, anyway.

So, when Jillian offered to make us a very, very late supper—I didn’t refuse.

I also didn’t refuse because of the fact that Jillian made the best goddamn hamburgers I’d ever tasted.

Meat, cheese, bacon—and a secret sauce that she refused to share the ingredients for.

Three burgers in and I finally leaned back and quit. I set the last few bites down on the plate and groaned, “I can’t do it. I want to eat it,” I stared at the lonely leftovers on my plate, “but my stomach’s gonna explode.”

Jillian’s laughter made me look up. She wiped the corner of her mouth. “I thought I might have to grab another pack of ground sirloin.”

It was well after midnight.

But I still knew that if I’d asked her to make more burgers, she’d do it—grab her keys, take off the twenty-four-hour market.

And buy whatever the hell she needed.

All to make her special burgers.

“Nope.” I patted my stomach. “I’m a quitter.” I smiled over at her.

She stood and began grabbing the plates. “I’ll clean up. You must be exhausted.”

I watched as she turned around and headed into the kitchen. My eyes immediately fell to her swaying hips.

Christ.

I missed those hips.

And that ass.

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