I grabbed my phone and purse and, after one quick glance in the mirror to treble check—was it a treble check if you’d done it at least ten times?—I made my way back downstairs.
Aunt Bethel was still blathering on about the strange man with the tattoos, and didn’t my mom know that tattoos were what gang members used? That was the kind of thing those biker-types wore.
Wore.
Like they were a t-shirt.
If I said ‘Jesus’ any more times he was going to appear.
I pulled the door shut behind me before she got any ideas and all but ran toward Noah’s truck. He’d turned it around in the time it’d taken me to get upstairs, and I climbed up into the passenger side of the cab.
I flopped down onto the seat and tugged the door shut.
“Hi.”
I glanced over at him, my lips curving. “Hi.”
“You ready?”
“To escape the madhouse? What do you think?”
“That I should put my foot down.”
I winked and clicked my belt into place. “Let’s go. Where are we going?”
Noah pulled away from the curb. “I was going to let you direct me. I haven’t been in town long, like I said, and I definitely haven’t been out for lunch.”
I leaned back in the seat. “Hmm. What do you want to eat?”
“You’re the one breaking out of jail. I’m happy to go wherever you want to.”
“Oh, no. I hate making decisions like this. Do you know how difficult it is to pick somewhere to eat?” I shifted my whole body so I could look at him. “Do you want Chinese? Thai? Steak? Korean? Pizza? Burgers? Caribbean? Mexican? Spanish? French? Italian?”
Noah’s gaze darted my way. “Do you have all those places in Creek Falls?”
“No, but that doesn’t make the decision any easier,” I replied. “Well? Burgers? Pizza? Mexican? Italian? Steak? Or Chinese?”
“I don’t—shit me, I feel like I’m being interrogated by the fucking Government.”
“You may as well be. Pick somewhere and I’ll tell you where to go.”
“I said you can pick.”
“I don’t care. I’ve been everywhere. They’re all good. You’re the new boy in town. Pick somewhere.”
“You’re demanding, do you know that?”
“Yes, Preston—oh, he’s my brother—regularly points out how demanding and difficult I am.” I paused. “If you really want me to pick, I will, but you can’t complain after.”
He turned the blinker on so we’d head in the direction of Main Street. “You just said they’re all good.”
“They are, but it’s not my fault if you feel like pizza and end up with a taco.”
“I can honestly say that I do not care what I eat for lunch as long as it’s edible.”
“Right. Then turn left, then right, and pull into the parking lot next to the liquor store.”
“I see you’re taking us to a reputable location.”
“Oh, no. The liquor store is a pit stop. It just happens to be on the way to the Mexican place I like.”
“I see. So you’re using me for liquor.”
“You’ve met my great-aunt. Damn straight I’m using you for liquor.”
Noah laughed, turning as I’d instructed him.
I tried really hard not to ogle his arm. I did. I’d swear it. I’d take it to my grave that I was not staring at his tattoos.
Apparently, he didn’t agree with me.
“Do you want another picture of my arm or are you all right over there?”
I jerked my face away, looking out of the car window. “I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?”
“I will ask them to spit in your tacos. Lifesaver or not.”
He laughed, making another turn. “How can I fairly judge if they’re good tacos if I’m aware that they may have been spat in?”
“Order the fajitas instead,” I deadpanned.
Noah pulled into an empty spot outside Rocky’s Liquor, and I unclipped my seatbelt.
“Well?” I asked when he didn’t move. “Are you coming to help me buy my body weight in liquor to get through living with my parents or not?”
***
“I told you the tacos are good.” I licked my fingers as I set my half-eaten one on the plate.
“I wouldn’t know,” Noah said dryly, leveling me with a look that held only a hint of amusement. “I had the enchiladas because I don’t know if I can trust you or not.”
With a sigh, I grabbed my taco and held up the end I hadn’t yet bitten into and held it out. “Here. Take a bite. I swear I didn’t spit on this end.”
Noah stared at me. “You said this wasn’t a date.”
“Taking a bite of my taco does not make this a date.” I paused. “My legs are firmly closed, just so you’re clear on which taco I’m referring to.”
“One, the taco you’re holding out to me is clear enough, and two… Do you really refer to your vagina as a taco?”
“I don’t make it a habit, but it’s been a crazy week. I’m rolling with it.
He took a moment before he shrugged and leaned forward. His fingers closed around my hands as he guided the soft-shelled taco toward his mouth and angled it to take a good bite.