He chuckled. “I’ll put shorts on.”
I had no idea why I was even negotiating, when I really had no desire to watch a movie. He disappeared and came back a minute later with a pair of loose hanging shorts. I could still see the rim of his Calvin Klein underwear band sticking out. And now that there were no tight undies to focus on, I realized the shorts actually made it worse. They hung from the valley on his narrow hips where a deep V was carved. Covering up his tight buns only left me to pay more attention to the details of his chest. And his ridiculous abs.
“Your turn,” he said.
My eyes asked for clarification.
“If I can’t be in my underwear, you have to change out of that night shirt.”
“What’s wrong with my shirt?” My voice was defensive.
His eyes dropped to my chest and the corners of his lips curled to a delicious wicked grin. “Nothing at all. By all means, keep it on.”
I looked down, having forgotten that I was wearing a thin white shirt with no bra. My nipples were standing at full attention, trying to pierce through the sheer fabric.
We argued over what to rent for twenty minutes before deciding on a horror movie I didn’t really want to watch. Five minutes later, wearing a sweatshirt over my nightshirt, I fell asleep with Chance sitting on the twin bed next to me.
The next morning, he was back in his own room when I woke up, the interconnecting doors left open on both sides. I overheard him on his phone telling someone his plans for the day. Clearly, the entire day of activities was a lie, since I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be staying within Los Angeles County all day.
Chapter Three
We decided to stop at a diner down the road from the hotel for some breakfast.
I placed my drink order first. “I’ll have a nonfat three-pump vanilla latte, low foam and extra hot.”
Chance squinted his eyes at me and turned to the waitress. “Did you get all that? She’ll have a hot two-pump chump with extra cream.”
Bertha—as her nametag indicated—didn’t look a bit amused. “We just have coffee, decaf or regular,” she said monotonously, holding a carafe.
“I’ll take a black coffee then.”
“Make it two,” he said.
She poured it into our cups. “I’ll be back to take your order.”
Chance was laughing at me as he shook a sugar packet.
I crossed my arms. “What’s so funny?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
“Did you really think you could order your frou-frou drink in a place like this?”
“Who doesn’t have lattes? Even McDonald’s has them!”
“We’ll get you a latte and a Happy Meal for dinner then—with a little toy inside. Will that make you happy?”
Shaking my head, I perused the menu. There was nothing here that I could eat. “Everything is so greasy.”
“Mmm. Bacon. A little fat once in a while won’t kill you.”
“I’ve already had my monthly allowance of fat…the chicken bites from yesterday.”
“Monthly allowance?”
“Yes. One cheat meal a month.” I sighed. “There is not one healthy thing on here. I seriously don’t know what to get.”
“No worries. I’ll order for you.”
“What? No.”
Chance lifted his finger. “Bertha, babe? We’re ready over here.”
God, he even had the ability to make that mean waitress blush.
“What’ll it be?”
He pointed to the menu. “I’ll have this dish you call heart attack on a platter. She’s just gonna have an order of plain rye toast, hold the butter.”
“Comin’ right up.”
“All I’m going to be having is dry toast?”
“No. You’ll be eating off my plate in no time. You just haven’t realized it yet. The toast is merely my way of showing you that you don’t really want the things you say you do. And many of the things you deem bad are really those that—deep down—you want the most.”
“Oh, really…”
“I see through you. The harder you try to be good, the more you’re starving to be bad. Not only are you going to eat some of my greasy food, but you’re going to eat it with my cock sauce all over it and love it.”
“Excuse me? Your what?”
Chance bent his head back in laughter before unzipping the pocket to his jacket. He slammed a small plastic bottle down on the table. It had a rooster on the front.