Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“You should hold on tighter,” I say over my shoulder. “Just to be safe. I promise not to get the wrong idea.”
That’s a lie, of course. I already have all the wrong ideas.
But I’m not going to act on any of them.
That’s the most important thing.
“All right. Like this?” Her arms wrap firmly around my middle, her thighs shift closer to mine, and her breasts mold to my back, making me keenly aware of every inch of her curvy little body.
My mouth suddenly dry, I croak out, “Perfect. Ready to ride, Mr. Sniffles?”
The pug makes an enthusiastic noise that has Stephanie giggling.
I start the engine, my blood quickening as she squeezes me even tighter as we pull away from the curb.
The ride to the food truck lot is only about ten minutes, but I find myself taking a slightly longer route, enjoying the feel of her arms around me and the cool evening air on my face. Mr. Sniffles seems to be having the time of his life, his wrinkly face lifted toward the breeze, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as he watches the city streak by.
When we arrive at the formerly empty lot currently hosting Friday Night Foodies, the area is already buzzing with activity. String lights crisscross over the picnic tables lined up between the semi-circle of trucks, and mouth-watering smells fill the air, reminding me how hungry I am.
My stomach growls loud enough to be heard over the music pumping from the speakers as I shut off the engine.
Stephanie gives my mid-section an affectionate pat. “Me, too, Tank’s tummy. Let’s get some of everything. ASAP.”
I grunt in response and she whispers far too close to my ear for my own good, “That’s your first grunt of the night. I think we’re making progress with our interpersonal communication.”
I grunt again, playing up the dubious note in the sound, and am rewarded with a laugh as she swings off the bike.
“Hey there, buddy, how was that?” Steph asks, detaching the dog’s leash and carefully lifting Mr. Sniffles from his cushion. His little legs wiggle with excitement as she sets him down. “Yeah, me, too. That was so much fun, and this place is amazing. How have I never heard about this before?”
“It’s one of Portland’s better-kept secrets,” I say. “The trucks are only here on Fridays and they rotate every month, but there are a few regulars. The Korean BBQ place has been here since the beginning, and the Thai curry truck is my favorite Thai food in the city.”
She moans, a hungry sound I refuse to think too much about. “Curry sounds so good. I haven’t had good Thai food in ages. Drake was allergic to peanuts, so we never…” She trails off with a shake of her head. “Nope, I don’t want to talk about him.”
I shrug as we start across the lot. “It’s fine if you do. He was part of your life. I get that.”
She shakes her head more firmly this time. “Thanks, but no. I’ve been so much happier since I blocked his number. I’m ready to leave that chapter of my life in the past.” She brightens. “Besides, I’d rather talk about food, and how much you think we can eat. Because, I’m going to be honest, I want it all.”
“Same. Let’s do a lap, check out all the options, then pick out three things to share?” I suggest. “As starved as I am right now, I can’t do more than three platters or I’ll regret it. My eyes are always bigger than my stomach.”
She grins. “Three platters? All by yourself? Boy, that’s impressive. I’m pretty sure I have a hollow leg, and I could only manage two.”
“I’m slightly larger than you are,” I say, casting a pointing glance down my nose at her much-shorter self.
She smiles. “True. Is that why you became a goalie? Because you’re so big, all you have to do is puff up your chest to block the whole net?”
I nod and deadpan, “Pretty much. It was that or pro wrestling, and my acting skills are for shit, so…”
She laughs, and I have to fight a goofy grin in response.
I can’t start goofy grinning at this woman.
The distance between goofy grinning and crossing a line with a girl you shouldn’t beg to sit on your face is dangerously short.
Doing my best not to think about how much I would love to have every inch of Stephanie for dinner, I lead the way to the Korean place at the far end. As we wander, perusing the menus, Mr. Sniffles trots happily between us, snuffling with excitement and farting loud enough to turn heads.
“Mortified,” Stephanie mutters through her teeth. “I’m officially mortified.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her. “We’ll sit at the table closest to the parking, where no one will hear us. Or smell us. Or hate us.”