Page 48 of Paths
I frowned, but nodded, not loving the fact he’s been able to read up on me while I still know so little about him.
“I understand why you might not have experienced a food truck. Trust me, it’ll be good.”
Well, it wasn’t only good—it was great. I snagged the last of the parmesan fries that Grady ordered for us to share. They were tossed with parsley, sea salt, parmesan, and roasted garlic. I forked the last bite of my savory crepe with turkey, roasted asparagus, capers, and sun-dried tomatoes, and Grady inhaled his French dip sandwich. The meat and cheese platter that came with fruit was annihilated. It was the best meal I’d had in a long time.
I’m surprised it was made in a truck and now I’m wondering what else I’ve been missing out on.
Since sitting down for dinner and a delicious beer, all I’ve learned about Grady is he knows his geography and early American history well. He knows Australia is almost cut in half equally by the Tropic of Capricorn, and the Oneida Native Indian Tribe aligned themselves with Americans during the Revolution. I, on the other hand, am kicking his ass in science and literature.
“What measure of energy comes from the Latin word meaning heat?” the announcer booms over the PA system.
Easy. I know this before the options are given and scribble my answer down quickly before flipping my page over.
Grady leans in close, as it’s the only way we’ve been able to have a conversation thus far because of the noise. I feel his breath on the side of my face when he boasts, “Madagascar put me ahead. You wanna bet again?”
Knowing we’ll probably be back at a tie because he sucks at science and I doubt he guessed calorie, I turn my head to him and can’t help but bite my lip from having him so close. Especially his mouth, and I find myself wondering if he’s as good with his tongue and lips in real life as he was in my dream.
Shit. I need to focus.
“Another date?” I ask.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “You bite your lip a lot.”
I instantly roll my lips out of sheer habit, before forcing myself to release them and relax. His eyes come back to mine, but I don’t say anything. I know I do this, my mother has pointed it out my entire life, explaining to me it’s not only unnerving for others to watch, but unbecoming. Still, I catch myself doing it all the time.
Grady doesn’t let me explain, but goes on, “Makes me jealous.”
To this, I lean back, confused.
His hand comes up quickly, wrapping around the back of my neck and the next thing I know, he’s kissing me.
He doesn’t kiss me long and deep, but his tongue does sweep mine. I taste the sweetness of his root beer he insisted on having since he was driving, along with a hint of our French Kiss dinners. I can’t remember anything tasting better.
When he pulls away, he’s looking at my lips when he mutters, “Makes me want to kiss them.” His eyes shoot to mine. “Maybe even bite one of them myself.”
“Let me see a raise of hands for calorie,” the voice booms over the speakers.
Without moving, our lips almost touch when I ask, “Did you get that one right?”
His beautiful lips tip on one side. “Fuck no. Calories are something I work off so I can eat more of them.”
I lean my head into his hand because it feels good and smile. “Then we’re tied. You still want to bet?”
“Yeah. If I win, you make me dinner, but I get to choose what you make.”
“And if there’s more science and literature questions and you go down like a big fat loser?” I ask.
“Then you still make me dinner, but you get to choose what to make.”
“Either way, I’m making you dinner,” I point out the obvious flaw to his plan.
He grins big, unapologetically. “I know. I want you to make me dinner.”
To keep from grinning, I bite the inside of my lip, but catch myself quickly when he narrows his eyes on my mouth.
Honestly, I love to be in the kitchen and there’s nothing more I’d like than to cook for Grady. Even more so if I get to pick the menu. “I’ll make you dinner.”
He smiles and is about to say something before we hear the next question. “Name the author of The Power of One.”
