Of course she does. Not that I’m complaining. I appreciate a woman who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to inhale a platter of tacos.
Plus, I’m starving.
I order a variety of tacos and a couple bottles of water, and we take a seat at one of the picnic tables, where a string of white lights dangles overhead, running from the outdoor heater to the truck. The bench is cool against the back of my thighs, and for an instant I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Maybe we should’ve gone to a traditional restaurant—one with proper heating and indoor seating—but Scarlett doesn’t seem to mind.
She appraises the selection of tacos, ultimately choosing chicken.
“Moment of truth,” I tease as she lifts it to her mouth and takes a bite.
Red sauce dots her lips as she chews, eyes closed like she’s having a moment. Hell, maybe she is, because she moans, a deep throaty sound that makes me forget all about my grumbling stomach and ignites an entirely different kind of hunger.
Fuck me. If someone had told me last week that I’d be aroused by the sight of a woman eating a taco, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Now I can’t help but wonder how it would feel to run my tongue over Scarlett’s lips, to lap up the sauce that lingers near the delicate bow of her mouth. To taste her.
Christ. I need to get laid. Because what the actual fuck? Normal people don’t get off on tacos.
Right. Blame it on the tacos.
Scarlett swallows and opens her eyes. If she notices me staring, she doesn’t comment on it. No, what she does is even worse.
Her tongue darts out, gliding over her bottom lip in the most tantalizing show of unintentional seduction I’ve ever seen. It’s fucking torture. Because now all I can think about is the other ways in which she might put that snarky mouth to good use.
Get a grip, Hart.
This is definitely not normal behavior. And if she keeps that up, I’m going to end up with a full-blown hard-on. Which would definitely put a kink in our working relationship—and not the fun kind.
“So?” I clear my throat, shifting to relieve the increasingly uncomfortable pressure of my jeans. “What do you think?”
She pulls off a tiny piece of the corn tortilla and pops it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Thankfully, there’s no tongue action this time.
“I’m reserving judgment until I’ve tried them all.” She puts the taco down and selects another. She raises it to her mouth and pauses. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Yeah. Of course.” I grab a beef taco and lift it like I’m making a goddamn toast. With tacos.
Because I’m suave like that.
Scarlett laughs—a light, sweet sound completely at odds with the cool winter night—but she raises her own taco before taking a bite.
We eat in silence, and I manage to not make a complete ass of myself for the rest of the meal. When we’re done, she leans forward, resting her chin on her hand.
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not sure I can brain anymore tonight.” She pats her stomach with her free hand. “I’ve officially reached food coma status.”
I shoot her a sly grin. “Because the tacos were amazing?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so smug. It’s Austin. All the tacos are amazing. Choosing a favorite would be like asking a parent to choose their favorite child—impossible.” Her eyes go wide and she straightens. “Which reminds me. Why did you choose the Valentine’s social from the suggestion box?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Because apparently, when you have an employee suggestion box, you actually have to act on some of the suggestions. Who knew?”
“No.” She shakes her head, completely ignoring my sarcasm. “I meant of all the ideas that were submitted, what made you choose that one?”
It’s a fair question. Especially since I made my feelings about Valentine’s Day known. Hell, it’s a wonder she didn’t ask sooner.
“Honestly?” I collect the garbage and pile it in a neat stack. “It was the best of the worst.”
“Really?” Her eyes narrow and there’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before. It’s almost…stiff.
