“My thoughts exactly, Dr. Blair!” I say sweetly, earning me a dirty look through the rearview. “Go on, pass him one, Parker.”
“I’m not hungry,” mutters Landon.
It takes effort not to roll my eyes. “You don’t have to be hungry to eat dessert. That’s the whole point of dessert.”
“You should try one,” says Parker. “They’re good…all things considered.”
He holds one out to Landon, and I smirk because it’s obvious that Landon can’t say no to Parker,especiallywhen he’s injured. One hand still gripping the wheel, Landon takes the cookie and bites off the edge with his teeth, not letting his lips touch it. It’s a serial killer sort of move, but I don’t say that because my mind’s focused instead on what nice teeth he has. I banish the thought.
“Well?” I ask. All I get in return is a shrug. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine.”
“Can I have the rest of yours then?” asks Parker. “I’m starving.”
Landon glances at Parker. “You are?”
“Yeah, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Landontsks. “What do you want?”
“McDonald’s sounded good,” Parker mutters, looking out the window.
From the backseat, I see Landon’s shoulders tense, and then he exhales, releasing what must be the slowest sigh in existence. Without warning, he makes a quick U-turn at the next intersection, sending me sliding across the seat into the door.
“Pretty sharp turn,” I mutter, righting myself. “And yet, for some reason, he criticizedmydriving.”
“What was that?” Landon barks, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Oh, nothing,” I say in a sing-song voice. “Nothing at all.”
Once we pull up to the drive-thru lane, Landon turns in his seat, and it takes massive effort to hide a smile. I must do a bad job, though, because his eyes narrow.
“What do you want?” he demands.
“Um, a crispy chicken sandwich and fries, please.”
“Parker?”
“Quarter pounder with cheese,” Parker says. “And fries.”
I don’t even attempt to hide my giddy smile when I hear Dr. Landon Blair, the stuck-up, arrogant asshat who’s probably never had a Big Mac in his life, order off the McDonald’s menu.
“This might be the best day of my life,” I say, after the voice coming through the speaker asks if he wants to make those combos, forcing him to glance at Parker for confirmation.
“Shut it,” Landon snaps, and Parker snickers beside him, clearly enjoying this as much as I am.
We snarf down our meals on the drive to Parker’s house, despite Landon’s big show of rolling down the windows to air out the smell of fast food. I tell him it doesn’t matter, this car has seenplentyof fast food, but he ignores me. Whatever.
Eventually, we pull into the unfamiliar driveway of a modest-sized home. Parker’s house is nothing like Landon’s. From what I can tell, there’s no pool and definitely no waterway in the back, but even from the outside, there’s a warmth to it that Mel and Landon’s house lacks. Parker’s bike is strewn against the grass; there’s a basketball on the lawn and a hoop above the garage that looks like it’s seen better days. The flowerbeds in front look like they could use some weeding, and the grass is an inch overgrown, but it actually looks like peoplelivehere. Normal people. Like me.
Landon shuts off the car and turns in the seat—with a little difficulty given his height—to face Parker. “How’s your ankle? Do you need help making it to the door?”
Parker shakes his head, hair flopping across his forehead. “Nah, I’m fine.”
“Everything okay with the prosthetic?” He glances at the arm. “Did it hold up when you fell?”
Parker extends his arm, shifting it from side to side. “Yeah, it seems fine to me.”
