Page 51 of Covert Mission

Cheerily, she announces, “Okay, so I was wrong.”

My eyelids are locked low. My retinas are scorched. All kinds of chemical reactions are going off inside my body.

Explosions. Detonations. Dangerous nuclear reactions.

She grabs another tamale from the stack and as she attacks it, she grins at me.

I clear my throat. “You were wrong about what?”

“I’m starving and you couldn’t pay me to eat that snack bar right now.”

A glow of satisfaction forms in my chest. Why do I feel like a caveman that’s successfully hunted and fed his woman?

I shake my head and scowl at the mountain of food on the table between us.

“What’s wrong with you now?”

“Nothing,” I snap.

I proceed to eat ten more tamales. One at a time. Mostly in a single snapping bite.

It’s almost satisfying. If my balls weren't trying to override my brain.

At least there’s enough food to put me into hibernation for a few hours.

I owe Justice. If he’d have brought me some skimpy ass sandwich, I’d have knocked down his door at two a.m. when my stomach gnawed a hole in my backbone.

Camile eats three.

Not fast. But not slow.

When I finally look at her, there’s a rosy glow to her cheeks and a little smile on her lips.

I reach for her cheek. “You’ve got some on you…” She goes rigid when my thumb brushes away the crumb.

Her eyes squeeze shut as she scrunches her nose. “Mortifying.”

Color builds to a bright cherry red on her cheeks.

“Why are you embarrassed? It happens.”

She looks sheepish. “I ate like a barbarian.”

I lean back and laugh at her. “Sweetie, you couldn’t be a barbarian if you tried.”

She shrugs and gives me a sexy grin. “I don’t know. You haven’t seen me with a turkey leg.”

“Fuck, I love those things. The smoked ones you get at the fair. What about the roasted corn? All that butter dripping down your arm. Man, now that’s good food.”

She jolts and blinks at me. Confusion flashes in her gaze before it is replaced by worry. “Yeah, it is.”

“Speaking of barbarian antics…” I reach for the bottle on the shelf. “The landlord gave me this tequila for booking so many of her units.”

I pull the cork and turn it up for a taste, drinking right out of the bottle like I’ve got no couth.

I close my eyes as it burns a path across my tongue down to join the tamales. “Damn good. This is made locally.”

When I open my eyes, Camile’s staring unblinking at me.