Page 33 of Bad Decisions & Back Roads
I blinked.
Waffles?
“I…” I looked between the boxes.“Honestly, both taste like sweetened cardboard.If you’re aiming for excitement, pick the cartoon waffles.But plan on using a lot of syrup.If you want to avoid the sugar high and want something edible…” I pointed toward the boring homestyle waffles still on a shelf.“That one.”
He didn’t hesitate.He grabbed the homestyle and tossed it into his cart like I’d saved his life.“You just settled a heated debate in my house.”
“That sounds dramatic for frozen waffles.”
“You haven’t met my kid or my dad.”
“Mason Hurst likes sprinkle waffles?”I had a hard time imagining the elder Hurst even eating waffles.He seemed like a man who ate meat for every meal.Now, imagining a stubborn child that was half Timothy made me smile.She was probably a handful.
“He likes to sprinkle them on himself.He swears it’s better if they’re not baked in, whereas my daughter says they’re better already in the waffle.”
A small helpless laugh escaped me.“Do you know where I can find spray whipped cream?”
His eyebrows lifted beneath the bit of hair hanging over his forehead.
I narrowed my eyes.“Please tell me that your brain didnotjust put whipped cream on my body.”
He looked almost offended.“Well,” he drawled, “it hadn’t…”
His slow grin spread.“But now that you mention it…” His gaze dipped, wicked amusement flashing in his eyes.“Question is, was your brain generous enough to imagine some on me too, or am I doing all the work here?”
A startled choke-laugh burst out of me as I dragged my eyes down his body, taking in the dark t-shirt tucked into jeans that hung a little low.I’d already checked out the backside and confirmed it still looked just as good as when he walked away the other day after agreeing to buy a tractor.
He leaned casually on his cart.“For the record,” he added, “I’m picturing collarbone.Maybe wrist.Then I’d go…lower…to areas that might enjoy some attention.”His gaze dropped to my chest.“Then it depends on how wild we’re getting.”
That sent me over the edge laughing.The image of him standing in a grocery aisle naked and covered in whipped cream looking deeply inconvenienced by it was the funniest thing I’d thought all week.
“So, what do youreallyneed whipped cream for?”he asked.
I swallowed my last snort of laughter.“Obviously, I need to keep my fridge stocked in case you randomly swing by.You’ll have to bring your own sprinkles, if you can get them away from your dad.”
His mouth twitched.His eyes went bright with trouble.
I enjoyed that look for exactly one second before reality elbowed its way back in.I gestured to the cart.“I’m grabbing stuff for Misty.Her stomach’s a mess right now.This is her short list of things she might be able to keep down.”
He leaned over and pulled out a can of olives, lifting one eyebrow.
“It’s on the list.If she wants olives, she gets olives.”
Then he picked up the chocolate chip cookies and slowly pointed to the bottle of white wine.
I snatched the wine defensively.“That one’s medicinal.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s been a very,verylong day.I plan to get slightly drunk, eat cookies, and spend my evening icing my calf where a horse side-kicked me.Then I’ll spend the rest of the night…” I caught myself before addingcleaning up puke.My voice dropped.“Helping Misty.”
“Are you sure your leg is okay?”His gaze dropped to my jeans-clad leg, slow and intent, lingering long enough to make heat creep up my neck.His scrutiny hadn’t been casual.He seemed to be picturing exactly where the hoof had landed and holding himself back from peeling off my clothes to see it.
“It’s not the first time I’ve been kicked,” I said lightly.“Won’t be the last.I’ll get over it.”
His lips flattened.“That’s not comforting.”
The rough edge in his voice caught me off guard.It’d been filled with concern wrapped so tight in irritation it almost sounded angry.At whom, I wasn’t sure.Perhaps, me.Or the horse.
