Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Man, I sure could crush a pack of Hostess snack cakes right about now.
I glance toward the front of the gas station and see Mack is already at the checkout counter and realize I need to get a move on it. I grab a coffee, an orange, heart-healthy trail mix, and a turkey sandwich quickly and make my way to the front just as he’s heading out the door.
By the time I crutch my way back to the SUV with my bag of well-balanced sustenance in tow, Mack is grabbing his receipt from the pump and getting into the driver’s seat.
“All set?” he asks, and I toss my crutches in the back seat.
“Yep.” I nod and hop on my left foot to get into the passenger side. “And next stop for gas, I’m paying.”
“I’ll think about it,” he replies with a little smirk and starts the engine.
“I’m serious, Mack. There’s no way I can let you pay for everything. We need to split the costs, at the very least.” When he doesn’t say anything to that, I add, “You’re already doing me a super huge favor. You don’t need to go full gallantry, okay? I’ll accept no showings of you falling on your sword again. The fact that you were willing to give up your flight and drive me back to New York is more than enough. Truthfully, it’s too much.”
“So…” He glances at me out of his periphery as he brings the SUV back onto the highway. “What you’re saying is that I’m basically your knight in shining armor?”
I snort at that. “Watch yourself, Houston, your youngest-child syndrome is showing.”
He laughs at that. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you thrive off constant compliments and positive reinforcement.”
His eyes dance with humor. “If that’s me, then what do you thrive off, Ms. Only Child?”
“Bourbon and poor choices,” I answer sarcastically, doing my best to make my voice sound like Gerard Butler.
“Is that…a line from London Has Fallen?”
I shrug. “I love Mike Banning.”
“Maybe your life hasn’t been as controlled as I thought. I never would have figured you for a bloody movie kind of gal. What’s going on in that psyche of yours?”
“Do you moonlight as a therapist?” I tease. “Because I don’t remember scheduling a session.”
“Okay, Katy Cat.” Mack grins at me out of his periphery. “My analysis is stopping now. How about you pass me my bag of snacks from the back seat, instead?”
“What’s your poison?” I ask him as I set the bag in my lap.
“Remind me of my options.”
“Uh…” I pause and open the bag, rummaging through his loot. “Reese’s Cups, Cheetos, Twinkies, Twizzlers…” I look over at him when I realize he went with all the delicious junk food choices my inner child is pissed at me for not getting. “Good grief, Big Mack, this is diabetes in a bag.”
Mack waggles his brows at me. “I’m a growing boy, Katy. I need my nutrients.”
“Ha! Get real! There is nothing nutritious about what’s inside here.”
“It’s a road trip, babe,” he rebuts incredulously. “You’re not supposed to get healthy shit. You’re supposed to get everything that’s neon.”
“Well, you definitely accomplished that.”
“What’d you get?” he questions and nods toward my bag that rests on the top of the dashboard.
“I went for normal stuff.”
“And what does normal stuff entail?” he questions, and before I know it, he’s snagging my bag and pulling it into his lap.
“Hey!” I exclaim and snatch it right back from him. “Eyes on the road, buddy!”
“Fine,” he says, chuckling. “Then you tell me what you got.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I let you see mine. Now you have to show me yours.”
Everything in my body is fighting against coming alive for the sexual connotation in his words. It’s like Pavlov’s freaking vagina over here at the authoritarian trill in his tone. I manage to clear my throat of saliva enough to list off my haul. “Turkey sandwich, trail mix, and an orange.”
“I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry for you.”
“What? Why?” I retort as I turn to look at him and nudge his shoulder accordingly. “There’s nothing wrong with my snacks.”
“Katy,” Mack responds with wide eyes. “You got an orange. At a gas station. I didn’t even know gas stations sold fruit. I honestly thought that was illegal.”
“There was a giant bowl of them near the counter, and there’s no Big Bear on our tail, so I’d say I’m within the confines of the law.”
“Go figure. I guess I missed them when I was grabbing my king-sized Twinkies,” he answers through a soft chortle. “Which, if you don’t mind, hand me those sugary snack cakes. I have a feeling they’re going to be just the ticket.”
I grab his Twinkies from the bag, even opening the plastic to make it easier for him to eat while driving. They smell like a freaking dream, and when some of the whipped cream filling gets on my fingers, I’m very tempted to lick it off.