I sat up straighter. “I should have something to eat. And you're on break, aren't you? Can we stop by the drive-through?”
"Sure." He flicked the turn signal, then pulled around to the menu setup. “What do you want?”
“Fries and a chicken sandwich.”
He arched his brow. “No drink?”
I shook my head. I’d had plenty of those this evening.
As he leaned out the window to relay our order, his shirt rode up, revealing a triangle of bare skin on his waist. No six-pack. Not even a sprayed-on one like Theo’d gotten at the start of summer. But Zack was thick in a nice way. Meaty, almost. Solid. Okay, not in an objectifying, I’d want to take his shirt off kind of way, but a ‘hey, nice bod’ observation.
When he pulled up to pay, I tried to hand him my credit card.
“I’m not taking that,” he said.
“Consider this payment for gas. Plus, your burger is a lot cheaper than a taxi,” I said. He’d really saved my ass.
His lip ticked up as he took the card. “Thanks.”
“Thankyou.” I folded my hands in my lap and tried not to look at his bare midriff when he leaned out the car again. God, this was awkward. Thankfully, I’d never have to see him again.
The inside of the fast-food joint cast a lemony sliver of light on his face and vintage T-shirt as he paid and got the order. He placed one of the warm, steaming bags in my lap, then tipped a nod to the cashier and said thanks.
Classic rock crooned over the radio as he spread his legs and shifted into gear. The masculine imagery wasn’t magazine cover-worthy, but it was weirdly comforting. A music video, maybe? My mouth watered at the aroma of grease.
Zack rolled up his window and glanced at me. “Do you have napkins? Everything you need?”
“Yeah.” I held the bag tighter, a crack of steam caressing my neck. “I have everything.”
We divided up the food as he drove. I munched on fries, trying not to stare each time he flipped a stray string of lettuce into his lips with his tongue. With one hand casually confident atop the wheel, his other hand loosely holding a thick, juicy burger, and his knees bobbing to classic Americana under durable, yet torn jeans, the scene struck me with familiar awe. He was the ultimate, all-American quarterback: square jaw, strong shoulders, loud, proud, and free.
The cheap haircut didn’t ruin anything. His carelessness was almost charming.
Theo was more charismatic. He cared about his appearance, like me. But I didn’t want to be like Theo when it came to personal things.
Yeah, I wanted the sparkly romper and money, to be elegant, desirable, and pretty, but I also wanted to be casually enticing. I wanted a brand deal. I wanted someone–someone like Zack–to look at me and think, “She’s cool, isn’t she?” Even if I was eating a burger. That girl could pull off designer heels and worn-out high-tops.
Would that ever happen for me? Was it a confidence thing?
Zack brushed his thumb along his lower lip. “What, do I have ketchup on my face?”
Crap,he caught me staring. I jerked my attention to my phone. “No. You chew loudly.”
He snorted. “Sorry.”
“You should be. Chewing like that in front of a lady.” I took a dainty bite of fry.
“Oh, excuse me. Miss Classy over here. Should I raise my pinky?” He lifted it and chomped on his burger, basically slurping up the remainder of the beef.
“Perfect.” I laughed. “So gentlemanly. You must be popular with the ladies.”
He rolled his eyes and pushed his food to one side of his cheek. “Only when they’re trying to bribe me.”
“Really?”
He nodded and crumpled his wrapper, then tossed it into his empty bag.
He didn’t have a girlfriend?
