I’m also plenty mad at the kid still. So, showing all my anger is for her and her actions alone is easy.
With a huff, she gets on the back of my bike. I bite my cheek to keep from grinning. And I’m enough of a prick to gun the engine to force her to wrap her arms around me as we shoot out of there.
It’s torture. Pure, blissful torture.
This is what I give myself. This is all I give. I can’t take more than this. I can’t evenimaginemore than this.
I drive us down the road, then double back down another road and back my bike into a parking spot.
“What’re we doing here?”
I don’t answer, just get off my bike and walk away. I hear her huff a second before I open the door and the bell overhead jingles.
“Take a seat anywhere, love. Be right with you,” one of the waitresses calls out, and I nod at her as I grab a booth toward the back and take a seat so I can see the front. I pull a menu from the holder on the table and glance over it.
“Being an asshole makes you hungry?” Ruby says as she slides onto the seat across from me.
“Being hungry makes me hungry,” I reply without looking up.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a number five with a Miller,” I say to the same waitress who called out when we entered. She’s around my age, but the bags under her eyes tell me she’s done this job too long.
“And you, hon?”
I look at Ruby with a raised eyebrow. She rolls her eyes, shakes her head at me, and then tells the waitress, “Same.”
The waitress nods and heads toward the kitchen.
“You even know what the number five is?” I ask.
“Food.”
Her response has me huffing out a laugh. When the waitress drops off the beers, I tell her to bring some waters too. Ruby’s going to need it, even if she doesn’t know it.
We sit in silence during the short wait for our food. I don’t mind. Ruby does a great job of looking at everything but me, and I don’t hide my looking at her, and everything else. I’m not ogling her, just watching her like I would an asset on a food run.
“Here you go.” The waitress sets the plates down, and I smile as I watch Ruby take in what she signed up for.
“Oh dear God, I’m going to die.”
I snort. “Not this again.”
“How the hell do you expect me to eat all this?”
I shrug. “Didn’t tell you to order it.”
I’ve come here a few times. This isn’t Ruby’s kind of thing. She’s never been a wing girl, hates the spicy stuff. She’s only eaten it when forced or dared, never on her own. And she just ordered thirty sweet and spicy wings with extra sauce, crisped chips, and a pickle.
I eat while she looks over her food a second before taking a chip and munching on it slowly. I can hear her stomach growling from here, but she’s still contemplating if the spice is worth it or not.
When she finally digs in, she’s hesitant, then does what she does best: closes her eyes and takes the biggest bite ever. Nothing half-assed about Ruby Hofstadter.
Her groan of pleasure shoots straight to my dick. I didn’t expect it and bite my tongue to keep from reacting. Which fucking sucks. Because, like Ruby just realized, the sweet overlays the spice, and it tastes amazing. But it’s still spicy enough that with an open wound, it burns badly.
I grab my beer and chug half of it before motioning to the waitress for another. I just need one more now, and then I’ll wait till I get back to the clubhouse. I don’t need to find a buzz here, not while I’m still driving. But I need something to take the edge off, just a little. And this place doesn’t do hard liquor.
“Wow. How have I never known about this place?” Her lips are covered in sauce, like her hands. There’s nothing dainty about her eating, and I, unfortunately, find it adorable.
