“This restaurant down here—it’s supposed to have this real nice view of the bridge. I thought it would be romantic, but…” He let out a frustrated growl. “There’s no parking, and the walk’s gonna kill my leg. And you were already hurtin’ during PT.”
I could tell he was getting in his head because his accent had gotten thicker and thicker. It was cute, but I had a feeling it was going to mean a spiral because that was how he’d sounded right before he’d lost it at Zayd’s.
“I have an idea.”
We came to a stop with the traffic, and he turned to face me. “What is it?” His voice was tight, and I recognized that anger from past Creek. The one who hated the sight of me. I wasn’t having that. Not tonight.
“I live about half an hour from here. There’s an amazing place nearby that has a drive-thru. They do burritos and the best salsa you will ever have in your life. My hip is really hurting, and I don’t want to walk, so if I promise I won’t—what’s that phrase you Southerners use? Get fresh?”
He barked a laugh, some of the tension draining away. “Sure, darlin’.”
I flushed, even though I knew he was laying it on thick. Yeah, everything about him did it for me. “If I promise not to get fresh, can we go get burritos and cuddle on my couch?”
He let out a shaky breath. “I wanted this to be romantic.”
“I have a scented candle.”
He laughed again, then leaned over and stole a swift kiss before traffic started moving again. “You really don’t mind?”
“I’m not a big candlelit dinner over the water kind of guy,” I confessed, grabbing his phone so I could put La Salsa Verde in the GPS.
He blew out a short puff of air. “Shit. Nash warned me about that.”
I looked up with a frown. “Candlelit dinners?”
“Not knowing how to be, you know, queer?” He winced. “Wait, is that one of the bad words?”
My mouth lifted in a small grin. “To some people, but I like it. Gives everyone a chance to feel welcome under the same umbrella. And there’s no one way to be queer. Plenty of guys like that kind of stuff. I did a while back, but after the accident, I…I don’t know. It feels weird now. Even if I’m in jeans, you know, I just feel like everyone knows. And I don’t like being stared at.”
“Yeah.” The word came out a half-whisper. He cleared his throat again. “You sure this is what you want? With me?”
I smiled. Liking Creek—being with him—was the best feeling in the world. I took his hand off the wheel for a second and kissed his knuckles. How was that for romantic?
“Yeah, honey,” I said, matching his quiet tone. “I want this with you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CREEK
Heath lived in the heart of San Francisco in a vibrant neighborhood, and I could easily see why he loved it there. His home was a one-bedroom townhouse with a garage and laundry room on the first floor and a living room, bedroom, and kitchen on the second. It was small but cozy and perfect for one guy. He had decorated it in cool blues combined with vibrant colors, like those mini beach houses you saw in paintings. An antique-looking surfboard hung over the door to the living room and another one in the hallway.
It was so Heath. His personality showed in every detail.
We installed ourselves at the kitchen table with the food we’d picked up, and he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was amazing. I’d opted for the fabulous wet burrito, which was indeed a bit of a mess to eat but tasted fantastic. Spicy beef mixed with beans and the perfect amount of heat then topped with a heap of sauce and cheese. Delicious. We’d also gotten guac, sour cream, and the salsa Heath had been raving about, and the combination was to die for.
“I’m glad we didn’t go to that restaurant,” I said with my mouth still half-full. Oops. I’d have to learn to mind my mannersa bit more. They’d definitely suffered from my time in the Army. “This food is so good.”
Heath swiped a bit of guac off my chin and licked it off with a move that had my balls tightening. “Told you.”
“You weren’t lying.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
I pretended to give it serious thought, then laughed at his indignant expression. “No, darlin’, you haven’t.”
He stared at me for a few beats, then looked away. “I like it when you call me darlin’. Is that what you called all the ladies too?”
I snorted. “Allthe ladies? Didn’t I tell you how far and few they’ve been the last sixteen years?”
