one foot while holding my shin with both hands.
Preston laughs. “Come on, vampire. I’ll get your blind ass to the car.” He places his hands on my shoulders and leads me off the porch toward the car. Once inside, the tinted windows make opening my eyes much easier. I look down at my shin to see a scrape and a bruise already forming.
When he takes his seat, I turn my heated gaze on him.
“What? It’s not my fault you hurt yourself,” he says around a grin.
He’s right, but that doesn’t stop me from being mad at him. He starts the car and I sit back, pulling my seatbelt over my body. “Where’s my muffin?” I ask, looking around the car and not seeing my favorite white, blue, and yellow bag.
He rolls his eyes but reaches into the back seat, handing over the bag. I smile as I open it, peeking inside to see my favorite banana nut muffin. I inhale the sweet scent and my mouth instantly waters.
As he starts driving toward the beach, I tear off the top of the muffin and put a small piece into my mouth. It practically melts on my tongue. I lean my head back, close my eyes, and smile, enjoying the sweetness. “Mmmmm,” I moan. “It’s literally like heaven in my mouth.”
He snickers and shakes his head. “If only I could find a woman who treats me as well as you treat your baked goods, we’d all be set.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Um, hello! She’s right here! You think I treat my baked goods well, you should see how well I’d treat you. It wouldn’t be a muffin melting on my tongue right now. It would be your hard coc . . .
“Should we swing by the store to grab stuff for a picnic or live off hot dogs all day?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I feel my face heating up. It’s like he knew what I was thinking and wanted to stop it before it could go too far. “I’m good eating wieners all day,” I say around a smile as I wag my brows at him.
He laughs and pushes against my arm. “There is seriously something wrong with you.”
“What’s the most wieners you’ve ever eaten in one sitting?”
He shakes his head. “Can we stop calling them wieners?”
“Fine. How many hot dogs can you eat in one sitting?” I need a distraction and, hey, I’m always willing to talk about winning that hot dog eating contest a few months back.
He shrugs. “I guess four?”
“Four?” I scoff. “Amateur.”
He laughs in disbelief. “Okay, big shot. How many have you eaten?”
“Seventeen!” I gloat.
He laughs even harder. “What? No fucking way. I’m hitting the bullshit button on that one.”
“I swear. And I have proof!” I grab my phone and pull up the picture that was taken of me after I won the contest. My stomach is probably double its normal size. My cheeks are puffed out like a squirrel carrying nuts, I have a sash across my chest, and both arms are thrust into the air, ecstatic I won. Next to me is a judge holding a sign with the number 17 on it. He’s also holding an envelope containing my prize.
He looks at the picture and laughs. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be proud of this. Delete that shit and deny it if anyone asks if it’s you.”
I smack his arm. “Are you kidding me? I’m thinking about having it framed. This is my finest hour!”
He chuckles and looks toward the road. “What did you win anyway?”
“Free Netflix for a year,” I state.
His mouth drops open. “You ate 17 hot dogs, probably made yourself sick, and took a year off your life for a one-year subscription to Netflix?”
I smile and nod. “And bragging rights, of course!”
“My statement still stands.” There’s a long, drawn-out silence as I put my phone away and he continues to drive. “What made you join a hot dog eating contest to begin with?”
I smile. “My friend Riley and I went to the state fair. We had tickets to a concert, but we went early just to hang out, drink, and stuff our faces with fair food. Anyway, we got hammered in the beer garden and needed to sober up before the concert, so we went in search of food. We were passing by the hot dog eating contest stand and she bet me I wouldn’t do it. I figured, two birds, one stone. I