He handed over a couple of twenties and said, “Order me whatever you’re having.”
I took him at his word and got him the triple cheeseburger, large fries, and biggest Dr. Pepper that they offered. I got the same for myself. Then I added a cinnamon melt thing that looked to die for.
One for both of us.
When I got out to the truck I had over ten pounds of food in my hands.
He eyed me with surprise when I took my seat and handed him the bag.
“Jesus,” he said. “What’s in here?”
I grinned as I reached for the burger at the bottom of my bag and said, “Lots of meat.”
He watched as I unwrapped my burger, unhinged my jaw, and took a bite.
“I’m not quite sure how you just managed that,” he said as he unwrapped his own burger.
He eyed it for a second before saying, “How’d you know what to order?”
“I’ve been eating your DoorDash for a week. I know that you don’t like lettuce and onions. Tomatoes are okay, which seems weird because I feel like those are grosser than onions. Plus, on your sandwich last week that you ordered, you got extra mustard. And, since I have a brain, I was able to use deductive reasoning to figure out what to put on your burger. You’re welcome.”
I took another bite of my burger, groaning. “Though,” I said through my chews, “I do believe that you massacre a burger by putting anything but meat and cheese on it.”
“Meat and cheese, eh?” he asked as he took a large bite—without, might I add, unhinging his jaw. “I sometimes do that, too.”
We ate in companionable silence, and only when I was done and snacking on my fries did he say, “I truly didn’t think you had it in you. You’re as skinny as a rail, and I always thought you just ate like a baby bird.”
“I only eat like that when I’m around large parties because I have social anxiety. If I eat a lot, I’m tempted to throw it up,” I muttered, licking the salt off the fry before I dipped it into my spicy ketchup and popped it into my mouth. “I feel like everyone judges the hell out of me when I’m at one.”
He looked over at me. “At least you’re not burned and you don’t have strangers also looking at you.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I’d almost rather something like that. Then at least I’m not wondering what it is they’re staring at. I have an overactive imagination, and I overthink everything. You could be staring at me across the room, and all my mind is thinking is ‘she shouldn’t be here. She doesn’t fit. She is uglier than her sister. She should’ve skipped this one and done everyone a favor.’”
“I think you think a lot more highly of yourself than you should,” Jasper drawled as he took another big bite of his burger before saying, “Honestly, I’d bet no one thinks about you at all.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about his comment.
On one hand, it made me happy that I was overthinking things.
On the other, it made me feel like a loser.
Someone should think about me.
Surely, at least Searcy was, right?
“Thanks,” I muttered.
Silence stretched between us as we each finished our food.
He was barely done with his fries when I started on the cinnamon roll.
He watched me put the last of my food away, then said, “I can’t eat mine.”
I reached for his trash and mine, then threw everything away.
When I got back to the truck, he was rolling out his shoulders.
“Do you want me to drive?”
