Mine rings, and he grins as he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen. He turns it to show me, and it’s Aubrey. “See, perfect timing.” I hold my hand out for the phone but instead of handing it to me, he flashes those damn dimples and swipes at the screen.
“Hello.” He pauses. “This is Landon.” He goes on to explain why he has my phone and what happened. “I’m going to grab her some dinner and take her home.” Another pause. “I can pick her up in the morning.”
“Let me talk to her,” I say loudly, holding my hand out for the phone.
“No, she’s not okay with it.” He laughs. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
“Landon,” I say, my voice stern.
“She wants to talk to you.” He winks as he hands me my phone and takes his, sliding it into his back pocket.
“Hey, Aubs.”
“Sounds like you’ve had an eventful day. How’s the ankle?”
“It’s swollen and hurts to stand. I should be fine resting it tonight.”
“He’s taking you home, huh?”
“I thought maybe—” I don’t say more because I know she knows what I’m getting at.
“Yeah, I would have, but he’s there, and he really wants to help you.”
“What if he’s some psycho killer or something?” I ask, sneaking a look at Landon. He’s leaning against the edge of my desk, legs crossed at the ankles, and arms crossed over his chest. A cocky smirk’s on his face. Like the adult that I am, I stick my tongue out at him, causing him to laugh.
“He’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Chance, is Landon Barker a serial killer?” I hear her ask her husband, and I roll my eyes. I hear him chuckle and say no. “See,” she tells me.
“Fine. Can you pick me up in the morning?”
“You have a ride.”
“Aubreeyy,” I whine.
An evil laugh comes through the line. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care of that ankle.” The line goes dead and I’m tempted to toss my phone at Landon’s smug face.
“Do you have what you need?” Landon asks.
I point to my purse and my lunch bag on the corner of my desk. He picks them up and hands them to me. “Ready?” Before I have a chance to answer, he’s bending and lifting me into his arms.
I squeal a little, which causes a low chuckle to come from deep in his chest. “You know, it feels better. I’m sure I can drive.” My attempt to convince him falls on deaf ears.
He continues to push through the door and carry me to his SUV. “Can you open the door?” he asks.
I hesitate as I think about arguing, but I’m sure he’ll just figure out a way to do it on his own. Besides, being this close to him, being in his arms wrapped in all that muscle with his scent surrounding me, it’s doing things to me that it shouldn’t. I don’t want to be attracted to him, but I am. I need distance, so I reach out and pull open the door. He moves it over with his leg and carefully places me in the passenger seat.
“I’m going to go lock up.” He jogs back to the door, makes sure it’s locked, and then jogs back to his SUV. He easily slides behind the wheel and looks over at me. “All right, what are we thinking for dinner?”
“I have food at my house. For me,” I add as an afterthought. “I can eat there.”
“I’m sure you can, but you need to stay off that ankle. Come on, let me buy you dinner.”
My stomach growls. Traitor. I don’t look at him because I know he heard it as well. “Fine, a drive-thru. Thank you,” I murmur the last part. What I don’t say is that I was taking a late lunch. I wasn’t hungry so I had planned to walk Buckwheat and then eat before checking on everything and closing for the day.
“You pick.”
“Anything. I’m not picky.”
“Really? So, what if I said I wanted a juicy burger and fries?”
My stomach growls again and my mouth waters. “I’d say add a large sweet tea and you’ve got a deal.” I can feel his eyes on me as we pull up to the Stop sign. I don’t dare look at him. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking right now.
He reaches for his phone, taps on the screen, and places it to his ear. “Hey, Harv. I need a to-go order please.” He rattles off three cheeseburgers deluxe, two orders of fries, and two large sweet teas. “Yeah, I know, but this is a special occasion.” He listens then says. “Thanks, Harv,” before ending the call.
We drive in silence for the next fifteen minutes, nothing but the low hum of the tires on the road filling the cab. I don’t know who Harv is or where he’s taking us, so when we pull up to the back entrance of a small bar not far from the stadium, my interest is piqued.
“I’ll be right back.”
I watch him as he goes to a back door, enters a code, and disappears inside. Where are we, and why does he have the code to get in? Not that it’s any of my business, but if this is some shady place of business, I should know, right? He did bring me here after all.
A few minutes later, he’s back and hands me a white paper bag that smells like heaven. “What is this place?” I ask, setting the bag on my lap.
“A bar. The owner, Harvey,
