Page 23 of Mommy

“Worth a try. Wanna go grab a bite?”

I didn’t make her lunch and from what I’ve gathered this far she usually doesn’t bring her own lunch to the shelter. I don’t know if that means she ate nothing but breakfast, when⁠—

An angry rumbling comes from her flat stomach.

Yeah, that settles it.

Shaking my head, I push my spare helmet into her hands. I wait for her to put it on, before I lift her onto the bike.

Her yelp is muffled, but audible, and I grin again.

Shit, she makes me do that a lot.

The drive to the nearest adequate restaurant is over way too fast.

I like the way Ivory koala-grips me whenever I let the engine roar, and my lips pull into a frown when she detangles her limbs from me as soon as the rumbling of the bike dies down beneath us.

Ivory’s hair is ruffled when she takes off the helmet again, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

Now that I think about it, it always looks at least a little ruffled. The light blonde hair falls down her back in wild, unstructured curls that almost reach all the way to her ass. Not really straight, but definitely not all curly either.

Chaos curls.

Turning to face me, there is a blush on her cheeks. It gives her face a pink tint that is a stark contrast to her large, baby blue eyes. It makes me want to groan, my cock stirring to life in the dark blue jeans.

“I—I didn’t bring money.” She murmurs the words into the front of her hoodie.

Yeah, no shit.

She’s wearing leggings and a large hoodie. I didn’t expect her to be pulling a wallet out of the front pocket. Not to mention that it would’ve pissed me off immensely.

“It’s on me.” I simply say and put a hand on her lower back, pushing her in the direction of the restaurant.

It’s not a high end place, but the food is decent and that’s what matters. The cook is clean—unlike so many others, and he actually knows that salt in fact isn’t the enemy of health.

Ivory throws a cautious glance over her shoulder, but she doesn’t resist when I guide her over the threshold and to my favorite table.

No, I’m not a creep that sits only at certain tables, but I think we’d all be lying if we said we didn’t care at all where we sit in restaurants.

After pushing in the chair for Ivory, I take a seat opposite her and let my gaze glide through the room in search of the waiter.

“Your glassware is in the dishwasher at work. I’m going to get it back tomorrow.”

There’s a lilt in Ivory’s voice, just a hint of uncertainty that has my eyebrows pulling together.

“Perfect, thank you.” I say with a tight smile. I have at least a dozen of the glass lunch boxes I gave her. I honestly wouldn’t have even cared if she smashed it on the floor while eating. Why does she sound like she expected me to be angry or annoyed?

Pushing the question aside, I wave over the waiter and order for the both of us. Burger, because I doubt that anyone doesn’t love burgers.

Ivory doesn’t resist and when the food arrives a few minutes later, she doesn’t wait for me to tell her to dig in.

A smile spreads on my lips as her fingers wrap around the burger and she lifts it to her mouth.

I don’t know what it is, but seeing her eat is doing something for me.

The way her rosy lips wrap around the food and her throat works when she swallows? Knowing this is actually good for her?

Fuck. Me.