“In the door. Bottom shelf.”
He nods when he sees it and brings it back to the table, dropping into his seat next to mine. He pours catsup all over his fries, then dives in. I’m convinced he’s halfway through his burger before he ever breathes. I can’t stop my eyes from trailing down his chest and arms. There’s not an ounce of fat hiding a single aspect of his cut body. You’d never know he’s a human Hoover.
It’s not until he picks up a fry that I notice his hand shaking. And when he flicks a nervous glance my way, I realize the reason he’s so engrossed in his food is so he doesn’t have to look at me.
But I want him to look at me. I need to feel that intense cinnamon gaze eat me alive the way it did at the pool Monday.
“How can you afford to eat out every night?” I ask, sipping my Coke.
He huffs out a laugh but doesn’t look up from his food, confirming my hypothesis. “I can’t. Vicky gives me the family discount. Which means the food is free.”
“Seriously?”
He nods as he takes another bite. “If I eat there, I have to pay for my beers, because she’ll get her liquor license yanked if she gives away alcohol, but she never charges me for the food. I felt bad about it at first and started doing some work on the bar, painting or whatever she needs, so it’s sort of a barter thing now.”
“Did you pay for this one?” I ask, taking a bite of my burger.
He shakes his head, and finally, his hungry gaze lifts to me. He watches me chew, his eyes fixed on my mouth. But a grin spreads over his features just as his hand darts out. “Because I’m going to eat part of it.”
I yank my hand away before he reaches my burger. “Are not!”
He grins, polishing off the rest of his in one bite. “We’ll see,” he says after he swallows.
“Well, you’re going to want to save room,” I say, reaching for the bag I dropped on the chair. “I’ve got desert.”
“What you got?” he asks, eyeing the bag.
I pull out the package of chocolate bacon. “I wasn’t sure how you were doing on the culinary portion of your bucket list.”
“Our bucket list,” he says, taking it from me and reading the label. “Boss Hog’s Chocolate Covered Bacon.” He turns it in his hand. “I’ve had bacon and I’ve had chocolate, so would this technically be a new food?”
“I guess it would count if you’ve never had them together.” I make an involuntary face at it. “My Aunt Becky sent it and I’m not going to eat it, because it’s, you know…disgusting, so I thought of you.”
“Because I’m disgusting?” he says with a grin.
I just look at him, not sure how to respond, because he’s the total opposite of disgusting. I could eat him alive. “Um…not so much.”
There’s a second that he stares at my mouth again, even though I’m not chewing. But then he clears his throat and looks at the bag.
“What about your dad?” he asks holding the package up. “Shouldn’t you save it for him?”
I lower my gaze as my stomach cramps at the thought of Dad. I hope he’s okay. I shouldn’t have run out like that. “I offered. I don’t think he’s working on a food related bucket list at the moment.”
He tugs open the Ziploc and smells it. “Chocolate. Bacon. What’s not to love?”
I feel my nose crinkle of its own volition. “Um…those are two foods that were never meant to occupy the same sentence.”
He stands and sets his empty plate on the counter, then leans his butt against it and shakes the bag at me. “Did you try it?”
My face pulls into a mask of disgust. “Um…no.”
He plucks a piece out. “What if it turns out to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”
“It’s not,” I say with a definitive shake of my head.
I watch with a deepening cringe as he pops it in his mouth and chews. “Mm, mm, mm.” He pulls another piece out. “I think you need to do this. It’s our bucket list, after all.”
“That you forced me to participate in,” I say. “I never wanted to make a bucket list.”
He points the bacon at me. “I didn’t force anything. If I remember right, we agreed to do it together for moral support.”
“Or peer pressure,” I mutter, glaring hard at the bacon in his hand.
“Whatever works,” he says, holding it out to me.
I feel my face scrunch again as I take it from him. I break a piece about the size of my thumb off the end. But then I hesitate with it halfway to my mouth. “How bad was it? Seriously?”
“Honestly, it isn’t as good as anchovies, so it’s not going to top my bucket food list, but it wasn’t horrible.”
“‘Bucket food list?’” I say. “Is that even a thing?”
“Damn straight. I’m chronicling our bucket list experiences. It’s my list of bucket list related foods.”
My lip curls in disgust as I scrutinize the bacon in my hand. “And I really have to try them all too?”
He tips my head in a question. “You’d seriously leave me to do this on my own?”