shove it up your—
“Great,” I mumble, stepping in line outside Panera Bread. The place is crowded, with the cue going out the front door. By the time I even get up to the counter to ask for Grant’s lunch, it’ll be one o’clock and neither of us will have gotten to eat before the afternoon chaos starts.
I tap my foot, thinking of the way he looked when confronting Alan. Stern and hard, it was damn sexy from my vantage point, if not a little scary. For the first time, I saw his dangerous side, and while a part of me wants to believe it was all for my benefit, most of me believes the Grant Huffman hiding beneath that suit isn’t as cut and dry as I first pegged him to be.
The line moves, an inch. My stomach growls, and I grow more impatient by the second. Looking around to see what other restaurants surround me, I step out of line and make my way through the lunch crowd to grab something other than Grant’s specified meal.
I’ll teach him to be rude to me.
By the time I have our food in hand and get back upstairs, it’s nearly 12:45. Not much time to scarf down lunch, but I’ll be damned if I’m getting through the rest of this day on an empty stomach, so if scarfing is what I have to do to fill my stomach, so be it.
I knock on Grant’s door.
“Come in.”
Entering, I close it behind me as he says, “What took you so long?”
“Have you looked out your window lately? It’s a zoo down there.” Dropping a greasy bag on his desk blotter, I say, “Here,” and plunk myself down across from him.
He stares at the fast food bag. “What’s this?” he asks cautiously.
“This,” I say, snatching the bag and reaching in to it, “Is a Big Mac.” I take the container out, followed by a hamburger of my own, and some fries, and a pie.
The look on Grant’s face is priceless, and more than makes up for him being rude to me. You’d think I’d given him a bag of cockroaches to eat by the way his nose turns up at the scent of the burger and fries.
“This isn’t Panera Bread.”
“Yeah, well, should’ve thought of that at 11:30, otherwise I’d still be waiting in line to get your food. Besides, why have a stuffy old turkey sandwich, when you can have this bad boy tantalizing your tastebuds.” I take a huge bite of the Big Mac. Lettuce and sauce plops down into the container and I roll my eyes back as I chew. “Mmm, heaven,” I mumble.
Grant looks on in horror. “You don’t actually like that, do you?”
“Have you never had a Big Mac before?”
He shakes his head. “No, actually. I haven’t.”
My eyes go wide with shock. Who the hell has never eaten a Big Mac? Oh, right. People like Grant.
Dropping my burger, I shove his forward, urging him to try it. He sighs, giving in to his hunger and opening the box to reveal a sloppy mess of carbs. He hesitantly picks it up, trying to be as polite as possible, but Big Macs aren’t meant to be eaten politely. They’re meant to be stuffed in your face hole and consumed in three gigantic bites.
I laugh as he takes his first nibble. His eyes are shut tight as he chews and I can tell his brain is trying to process what his taste buds are experiencing.
“Not bad, right?”
“Not good, either,” he says, refusing to admit he might actually like the food. “You know,” he adds, wiping his fingers on a napkin, “I don’t normally allow people in here when I eat.”
I look around the office and back at him. “Is that supposed to make me feel special?”
“Do you?” he asks.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you going to apologize for being rude to me earlier?”
“Depends,” he grins.
“On what?”
“Are you going to apologize for bringing me this horrendous offering called lunch.”
“You first,” I wink, watching him pick up his burger.
“Shit,” he shouts, suddenly jumping back from the desk, but not before a glob of sauce drips down his shirt.
I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in
“Great,” I mumble, stepping in line outside Panera Bread. The place is crowded, with the cue going out the front door. By the time I even get up to the counter to ask for Grant’s lunch, it’ll be one o’clock and neither of us will have gotten to eat before the afternoon chaos starts.
I tap my foot, thinking of the way he looked when confronting Alan. Stern and hard, it was damn sexy from my vantage point, if not a little scary. For the first time, I saw his dangerous side, and while a part of me wants to believe it was all for my benefit, most of me believes the Grant Huffman hiding beneath that suit isn’t as cut and dry as I first pegged him to be.
The line moves, an inch. My stomach growls, and I grow more impatient by the second. Looking around to see what other restaurants surround me, I step out of line and make my way through the lunch crowd to grab something other than Grant’s specified meal.
I’ll teach him to be rude to me.
By the time I have our food in hand and get back upstairs, it’s nearly 12:45. Not much time to scarf down lunch, but I’ll be damned if I’m getting through the rest of this day on an empty stomach, so if scarfing is what I have to do to fill my stomach, so be it.
I knock on Grant’s door.
“Come in.”
Entering, I close it behind me as he says, “What took you so long?”
“Have you looked out your window lately? It’s a zoo down there.” Dropping a greasy bag on his desk blotter, I say, “Here,” and plunk myself down across from him.
He stares at the fast food bag. “What’s this?” he asks cautiously.
“This,” I say, snatching the bag and reaching in to it, “Is a Big Mac.” I take the container out, followed by a hamburger of my own, and some fries, and a pie.
The look on Grant’s face is priceless, and more than makes up for him being rude to me. You’d think I’d given him a bag of cockroaches to eat by the way his nose turns up at the scent of the burger and fries.
“This isn’t Panera Bread.”
“Yeah, well, should’ve thought of that at 11:30, otherwise I’d still be waiting in line to get your food. Besides, why have a stuffy old turkey sandwich, when you can have this bad boy tantalizing your tastebuds.” I take a huge bite of the Big Mac. Lettuce and sauce plops down into the container and I roll my eyes back as I chew. “Mmm, heaven,” I mumble.
Grant looks on in horror. “You don’t actually like that, do you?”
“Have you never had a Big Mac before?”
He shakes his head. “No, actually. I haven’t.”
My eyes go wide with shock. Who the hell has never eaten a Big Mac? Oh, right. People like Grant.
Dropping my burger, I shove his forward, urging him to try it. He sighs, giving in to his hunger and opening the box to reveal a sloppy mess of carbs. He hesitantly picks it up, trying to be as polite as possible, but Big Macs aren’t meant to be eaten politely. They’re meant to be stuffed in your face hole and consumed in three gigantic bites.
I laugh as he takes his first nibble. His eyes are shut tight as he chews and I can tell his brain is trying to process what his taste buds are experiencing.
“Not bad, right?”
“Not good, either,” he says, refusing to admit he might actually like the food. “You know,” he adds, wiping his fingers on a napkin, “I don’t normally allow people in here when I eat.”
I look around the office and back at him. “Is that supposed to make me feel special?”
“Do you?” he asks.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you going to apologize for being rude to me earlier?”
“Depends,” he grins.
“On what?”
“Are you going to apologize for bringing me this horrendous offering called lunch.”
“You first,” I wink, watching him pick up his burger.
“Shit,” he shouts, suddenly jumping back from the desk, but not before a glob of sauce drips down his shirt.
I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in
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