Flawless (Chestnut Springs, #1)(36)

He quirks a brow, like he doesn’t believe me, and strides over to the bed. Food in hand, he perches on the end of the mattress before flicking on the TV. The channels flip until he lands on some type of gladiator show where people work their way through an extreme obstacle course and do their best not to die.

“You just gonna stand there, Princess?”

My mouth opens and closes silently. I am seriously not firing on all cylinders right now.

“Have you eaten?” He opens the white box.

“No.” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. I already feel like I’m imposing in his space, so I can’t waltz in here and steal his food on top of that.

“Summer.” He shakes his head and tosses a napkin toward the bed’s opposite corner. “Sit. You need to eat.”

I move toward the bed and fold myself onto the edge, sitting in a kneeling position across from him. “I’m good. You need . . .”

“What?” He squeezes a packet of ketchup into the box that’s full of fries.

“Is this how you’re eating?”

He chuckles but keeps setting his little spread up in front of himself.

“Rhett, you’re an athlete. You can’t treat your body this way.” I glance at the French fries in one container and buffalo chicken wings in the other. “This food? The lack of physical therapy? Are you even working out?”

He grins at me now. “Why? Do you think I look good?”

“I think . . .” My eyes roam over him again as his leather scent blends with the tang of the wings. “I think you look like you’re running yourself into the ground. If you’re going to win, you need to be better to yourself.”

“I like the way you put that. You might be the only person I know who isn’t on my ass to retire.”

My stomach picks this moment to growl like a grizzly bear.

“Listen, boss, if you eat something, I’ll let you pamper me how you see fit for the next two weeks until the next rodeo. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have ordered more. We can order more. Just share this with me for now, so I won’t drown in the guilt of holding a starving girl hostage in my room.”

“If I eat, you’ll do what I tell you to for the next two weeks?”

He stares back at me, all whiskey eyes and stubble and unruly hair. But his expression is sincere. “Yes.”

I sigh in response. “Okay, fine. Deal.”

He nods, but we’re stuck in that weird limbo where we stare at each other. Like we want to say more but don’t know where to start.

I opt to break the tension by reaching for a fry and shoving it in my mouth. Rhett smiles and does the same.

We watch the show, gasping when people fall and cheering when they seem like they’re on a roll. I think the food tastes better just because we’re sitting at the foot of a shitty hotel bed, legs crossed, takeout containers spread out beside us.

“I think I could do this,” I finally announce.

“Yeah?” He looks at me curiously before pointing at the chicken wing box. “That’s yours.”

I peer down and see the last wing. “You should have it,” I try to argue.

“No chance.” Rhett licks his lips as he stares at the screen, and I can’t look away. “You need your energy to put up with me. Have it.”

I swear that one little drumstick is staring back at me. Daring me to make this mean more than it does. But giving me the last piece is just so . . . sweet. I almost can’t reconcile it. I almost want to ask myself what it means.

But even I don’t want to be that pathetic. So, I lift the wing and start taking bites while getting back to my last statement. “Yeah, I think I could do this. I think I’m strong enough.”

“Smart enough, too. I think half the battle with these is having a strategy. You can’t just brute force your way through it. You know?”

I polish off the wing, nodding. Because he’s right. And my heart is all aflutter over his compliment. “Thanks,” I say with a smile.

He snorts. “You’re welcome. But you’ve got sauce on your face. A big old smudge of it.”

Immediately, I shoot a hand over my mouth. “Where?”

“Kinda hard to see with you covering half your face.”

“But the minute I move my hand, you’re going to laugh at me.” I shift back up onto my knees, a somehow less vulnerable position.

His smile widens as he leans closer. “Oh, absolutely.”

I let out an exasperated groan as I drop my hand and gaze up at the ceiling. “Fine. Tell me where it is. I’m too tired to go to the bathroom.”

After a few beats, when my eyes go back to Rhett, he’s not looking me in the eye anymore. He’s looking at my mouth.

No. He’s staring at my mouth.

His hand moves toward me, and my breath hitches in my lungs. I’m like a deer caught in headlights, too shocked and mesmerized to run from danger.

“It’s right . . .” His voice is low and rough. And I can’t stop staring at his expression. The way he’s watching my mouth is almost filthy, like I can read every thought flashing through his mind without even trying.

My lips pop open, ever so slightly at the thought of him closing the distance, gripping my head, and pressing his lips to mine. Giving me a taste of what I’ve fantasized about.