It’s crazy because back when we saw each other at the hockey camp, I couldn’t stand her. I thought she was a brat who had lucked out, hitting the jackpot in the stepdad lottery, and had been given everything she could ever want. And then I saw her in the field house that day when her biological father walked in and looked through her like she wasn’t even there.
That was the first moment I really saw Isla for Isla. And ever since then—ever since I helped her through that panic attack—she’s been all I can see. Now she’s not looking at me like I’m a monster anymore, but the truth is, I am a monster. And eventually, I’m going to need to be honest with her about it.
But once she learns the truth about my past, she’ll never look at me the same. So, for now … I’m keeping my skeletons locked away in my closet. Because I can’t lose this girl before she’s really mine.
Slowly, I pull out of my parking spot and head toward our next destination, unable to stop glancing at my passenger every now and then because she looks so fucking good in my truck.
“Okay,I must admit that this was a good choice,” Isla says, finishing her milkshake before sitting back in the booth and patting her stomach. “But I was starving, and I definitely ate way too much food, so now you’re going to need to roll me to the truck.”
“I won’t roll you, but I’ll gladly throw you over my shoulder,” I drawl, winking because she should know by now that I would be honored to throw her ass over my shoulder and carry her on outta here. Truly.
Watching her put down a double cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake made my whole fucking day.
Oh … and the pickle. Can’t forget her eating that nasty thing. Or when she pointed to mine when it was the only thing on my plate and asked me if I was going to eat it, and then she ate mine too.
The girl likes pickles, apparently. Hopefully one day soon, I can give her the pickle in my fucking pants.
When the waitress comes by with the bill, I pull out my debit card and hand it to her before she even has a chance to set it down on the table, not wanting Isla to get any ideas of paying it.
“I could have gotten that,” she says, keeping a hand on her stomach. “But thank you for lunch.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say. “I kinda enjoy watching you eat like it’s a competition.” I grin, knowing I’d likely lose if it was a competition between her and me. “It’s probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her cheeks redden just as the waitress slides the receipt and my card down, along with a pen.
“Have a great day,” she says, smiling at both of us before she takes off.
“You too,” Isla calls behind her before narrowing her eyes at me. “It’s rude to talk about how much a woman eats, FYI. Just in case you want advice for future chicks you take out, don’t comment on how much they do or don’t eat.”
“But I sure do enjoy watching you destroy a huge-ass cheeseburger,” I say honestly. “Also, cut it out. I don’t need future advice for any women, remember? Because you’re going to fall in love with me, and we’re going to live happily ever after.”
This time, her eyes roll clear up to the ceiling.
“Does that actually work?” She finally looks at me, lifting a brow. “Because I have to tell you, it’s not going to work on me. Maybe it’s worked on your past conquests, but not this time, Hunt.”
“I’m not sure.” I shrug, leaning back slightly against the booth. “But we’ll just see about that, won’t we? I can be quite persuasive, Nineteen. You’ll see.”
“I’m sure you can,” she utters, shaking her head slightly. “All right, let’s get out of here before I change my mind about dessert and go look at the pie or something.”
“I told you to get one?—”
She holds her hand up before sliding out of the booth. “God, no. I’m already going to have to run an extra two miles tomorrow just to work off that burger.” Standing up, she holds her hand out. “Come on. Time to go.”
She may mean it in a funny way, like I need help out of the booth or something, but when my hand takes hers, I swear my fucking flesh catches on fire. And I can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across my lips when I can tell by the look on her face that hers does the same thing.
SEVENTEEN
ISLA
Hendrixand I each carry our own bag of apples—per my request because I am not sharing—as we continue walking between the trees.
When we were driving past this orchard, Hendrix saw me looking at the sign, and he shocked me when he slammed on the brakes and pulled in.
Apple picking just seems like such a … family or serious couple activity. And yet, here we are, laughing and having a great time.
“Look at this one,” he says, holding up what could be the most perfect apple once he’s done shining it with his shirt. “This is like … catalog material.”
“It is,” I agree, nodding. “Let me have it.”
