Black Jack (Advantage Play #5) - Kelsie Rae Page 0,17
hungry.”
“You sure?”
“I have a salad in the fridge.”
I can almost taste his amusement as soon as the word salad slips past my lips. Like I just lost a bet I knew nothing about.
“Is that a problem?” I add, popping my hip out.
With his hands raised in surrender, he steps back and braces himself for another attack. “Not at all. I was just craving a burger.”
“That’s nice.”
“When was the last time you had a burger, Bianca?”
“I don’t like burgers.”
“Everyone likes a good burger.”
I quirk my brow. “Well, I don’t.”
“Really? You’re not a fan of the toasted buns, juicy meat, crisp lettuce, fresh tomatoes, tangy pickles, maybe some melted cheese, and bacon on top?”
My mouth waters, but I swallow it back. “Last time I checked, McDonalds doesn’t toast their buns or add bacon.”
He laughs. It’s low and masculine with a grittiness that causes tingles to race up and down my spine. “McDonalds doesn’t count. I was meaning like…a legit burger. Not the fast food shit.”
“It’s still a no,” I tell him, though I can feel myself wavering.
Bacon? I mean, who doesn’t love bacon?
“So, you don’t want me to get you one?” he prods. “Even if it’s from a good place?”
“Nope.”
“Okay…,” he drags out. “Maybe some fries? Or a diet coke?”
“No, thank you,” I repeat. “I’ll stick with my salad.”
“When was the last time you had carbs, Bianca?” he challenges, clearly more amused by this conversation than I am.
“Before I picked you up,” I quip.
Unconvinced, he challenges, “Oh really? What kind of carb?”
“The complex kind.”
Another deep rumble reverberates through his toned chest. “Such as?”
“Some carrots.”
“Carrots?” His brow arches toward the ceiling.
The bastard doesn’t even bother to hide his giant grin. He’s finding this way too entertaining for a guy who’s been incarcerated for the past two weeks.
“Is that a problem?” I ask.
“Was it with dip?”
I purse my lips. “Are you finished?”
His mouth curves toward the ceiling on one side as he steps closer, crowding me against the doorjamb, but I stand my ground. “What’s your guilty pleasure, Bianca?”
“I don’t have any guilty pleasures.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just don’t.”
“‘And I don’t believe you,” he calls me out. “Everyone has a guilty pleasure.”
“Guilty pleasures are weaknesses. Even if I did have one, I wouldn’t tell you what it is.”
He pulls back as though he’s been slapped. “Why not?”
“Because you’d find a way to use it against me.”
“I’d find a way to use a burger against you?”
“Not everyone’s guilty pleasures involve calories, Jacky Boy,” I huff. “In fact, I think it rarely involves them unless you have the palate of a toddler.”
His mouth twitches. “Are you calling me a toddler, Bianca?”
“You’re acting like one.”
“I’m the one acting like a toddler?” His tone manages to ride the line between amusement and annoyance like it’s a tightrope and only ruffles my feathers more.
“Yes.”
“All because I asked if you wanted me to pick up a burger for you?”
“Look, I grabbed your car so that I wouldn’t feel like I was babysitting, so if you could stop suffocating me, that’d be great.”
“You’re joking right?” Jack laughs. Again. Only this time, it’s laced with a frustration that leaves me uneasy. He leans closer, getting right up in my face, but I refuse to back down. “Let’s do a quick recap, shall we? I was trying to be nice when I came and asked if I could pick up some dinner for you––”
“Because you felt guilty,” I interrupt.
“Yeah. I felt guilty because I was an ass, and I wanted to make it up to you. So, sue me. But you declined. Fine. Not a big deal. Then I asked what your guilty pleasure is so I could maybe melt a bit of the Ice Queen’s bitchy attitude with some brownies or something, and you twist it into me suffocating you? With what? Kindness?” He scoffs, but I’m still too shocked by the ice queen comment to tackle the rest of his recap.
Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I blink back the sheen that’s collected in my eyes and whisper, “Did you just call me a bitch?”
He runs his hand through his hair again, tugging at the roots with white knuckles before releasing his hold.
“Look, I’m sorry––”
“Nope. Too late,” I seethe, my hurt transforming into fury. I push up onto my tiptoes and get right back in his face. “You wanna talk about being a little bitch, Jack? How about the fact that you just spent time in a freaking prison cell for a crime you weren’t even man enough to commit. And