It’s incredibly unfortunate that I need to keep reminding myself.
But I do.
My hormones arenotbehaving themselves.
Between the sympathy I have for his situation and the way he’s changed since the last time I saw him, and then his complete one-eighty from Mr. Grumpiest Billionaire Ever to Kindest Stranger in the Universe when he paused to make a donation to the little girl and her gymnastics club, I can’t look at him without getting that feeling in my belly.
You know the one.
Yeah.
Thatfeeling.
ThatI think I like something about youfeeling that I absolutely, positively,cannothave for this man especially.
This is my hardship to bear for all of the crimes of my youth. Zero doubt.
Karma has come calling.
I turn into the Cod Pieces parking lot, intending to line up for the drive-thru, when Oliver bolts straight upright.
“Wha-bum?” he gasps.
Tell me any normal woman could resist a guy when he’s disoriented and babbling nonsense while he has his own drool on his chin.
“We’re about an hour from our destination,” I tell him. “Grab the cash from the glove compartment. We’re getting the best road trip food ever invented.”
Not that it can hold a candle to Bea’s fish and chips—her dad was a chef and taught her how to cook the most amazing food—but Bea’s not here, and even if she was, she’d agree that Cod Pieces is the way to go for a road trip.
“Why are we eating at a place that’s named even worse than the Quickie-Lickie?”
“Because it’s delicious.” I switch plans and pull into a parking spot instead of hitting the drive-thru. My bladder isn’t the teeniest, but it can’t handle two MegaHit energy drinks for long either. “And it’s fine if you hate it, but I’m not doing my job well if I don’t show you the best-worst food in existence. Although—no, never mind.”
He blinks at me like he’s still waking up. “Although what?”
“The real worst food ever is the Miles2Go signature corn dog. It’sreallybad. Like all the way bad. Not like so bad it’s good. Justterrible, if I had to use a single word to describe it.”
“William’s dick,” he mutters.
“You’ve seen the websites about it!” People have strong opinions about the corn dogs, and after Oliver’s father, William, went to prison, they nicknamed it for him. “That’s hilarious. I wasn’t sure if they’d bother you with something so trivial.”
“The nickname is why I made them keep it on the menu.” He blinks at me again, opens his mouth, then shuts it like he didn’t want to admit that to me.
I grin at him. “Daddy issues?”
“Hewent to prison. Do you know how hard it is for someone with our attorneys to actually go to prison? You have to fuck up more than anyone has ever fucked up. Ever.”
“And he left you holding the company together, so you took it out on him by keeping mementos of his penis in stores across the country. Oliver Cumberland, you have a petty streak. Who would’ve guessed?”
“Are we going inside or not?”
I unbuckle and swing open my door. “Yep. Culinary delight awaits.”
Oliver refills his wallet with more cash, then joins me to cross the parking lot.
It’s a little crowded, but that shouldn’t be a problem.
“Cod-stravaganza?” Oliver mutters as we approach the door, where this month’s special is advertised on a bright red background featuring Sir Pollock, the Knight Fryer, Cod Pieces’ mascot.
