Read Online Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 by Heidi Cullinan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
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beam, but it wasn’t easy. “I get it from all over the world, from friends. I don’t mean to pirate. But half the time you can’t even get it, or if you can, it’s all import and priced more than anybody’d pay. I buy a lot too, as much as I can. It evens out.” He took another generous sip of margarita, and it was enough, apparently, to completely loosen his tongue. “I love my iPhone. I named her Judy.”
Mitch gave him an odd look. “Garland?”
“Bernly. From 9 to 5 . The Dolly Parton movie, you know? Jane Fonda’s character was Judy Bernly. My mom and I used to watch it every year on New Year’s.”
“I saw you had her on here too—Parton, that is. Country, pop, jazz—hell, Sunshine, you’ve got a whole music store.” He palmed the phone and nodded approvingly at the face. “I gotta get me a Judy of my own, I’m thinking. A guy in Minneapolis showed me how to hook it up to the radio. Though, that reminds me—I about ran you clean out of battery. Poor Darin couldn’t even get his texts through.”
“That’s okay.” Sam smiled now, a little too much. He was definitely feeling the alcohol, and between it and the way Mitch’s fingers kept brushing his, he felt warm and happy.
They pulled apart when Damario came with their food, and for several minutes they ate in silence. Sam was still starving, but the chips had dulled his hunger enough that, combined with the laziness of the alcohol, he could slow down and enjoy his meal. He lingered over his enchiladas, savoring the melty cheese, the shredded chicken and the oh-so-yummy red sauce before breaking into the tamales with a quiet sigh.
“Oh my God, they’re so good.” Sam leaned back and let the taste roll around him. “I don’t know why, but I love them.”
Mitch eyeballed them critically from the other side of the booth before reaching over with his fork. He hesitated over Sam’s plate, though, looking up at him silently for permission. Sam scooted the plate toward him, watching as Mitch took a bite.
“They’re not bad.” Mitch wiped his mouth with his napkin. “But mine are better.”
“You make tamales?” The very idea melted Sam’s brain.
“Sure. Nothing to it. Of course, mine aren’t anything compared to—” He stopped short.
“To?” Sam prompted.
But Mitch only shook his head. “Little bastard pops into my head every time I’m around you, doesn’t he, Sunshine?”
That comment made absolutely no sense to Sam, but something about Mitch’s body language told him it would be unwise to ask, so he didn’t. A strange silence came up between them, subtle but significant. Mitch retreated into his fajitas, but Sam lingered a moment, watching him eat.
“So you’re heading to Chicago?”
“Yeah.” Mitch still looked gruff. “In fact, to be honest, I should head out as soon as we’re done here.”
Sam’s chin came up sharply, and his fork lowered to his plate. “What?”
Mitch cleared his throat. His face was blank, no more teasing left in it at all. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s part of the delivery to L.A., and they need the warehouse for tomorrow morning, so tonight it is. I had to push to keep my meeting with you, to tell you the truth.”
It was a good excuse—valid and everything. But something about the way Mitch said it left Sam feeling funny, like Mitch was lying.
God, did he not want to have sex with Sam again?
What the hell had Sam said to screw this up?
Sam stopped eating and ducked his head, trying to hide his reaction. He felt foolish and confused. And cheated. It doesn’t matter. This was never going to be a long-term thing anyway. But it did matter. Telling himself not to be disappointed didn’t make his feelings stop.
“You all right?”
Sam startled at Mitch’s comment and hurried to pick up his fork. “Oh, fine.” He poked at his tamale, but he didn’t eat any more.
Damario pressed for dessert or more drinks, but Sam insisted he was too full, and Mitch declared he had to
Mitch gave him an odd look. “Garland?”
“Bernly. From 9 to 5 . The Dolly Parton movie, you know? Jane Fonda’s character was Judy Bernly. My mom and I used to watch it every year on New Year’s.”
“I saw you had her on here too—Parton, that is. Country, pop, jazz—hell, Sunshine, you’ve got a whole music store.” He palmed the phone and nodded approvingly at the face. “I gotta get me a Judy of my own, I’m thinking. A guy in Minneapolis showed me how to hook it up to the radio. Though, that reminds me—I about ran you clean out of battery. Poor Darin couldn’t even get his texts through.”
“That’s okay.” Sam smiled now, a little too much. He was definitely feeling the alcohol, and between it and the way Mitch’s fingers kept brushing his, he felt warm and happy.
They pulled apart when Damario came with their food, and for several minutes they ate in silence. Sam was still starving, but the chips had dulled his hunger enough that, combined with the laziness of the alcohol, he could slow down and enjoy his meal. He lingered over his enchiladas, savoring the melty cheese, the shredded chicken and the oh-so-yummy red sauce before breaking into the tamales with a quiet sigh.
“Oh my God, they’re so good.” Sam leaned back and let the taste roll around him. “I don’t know why, but I love them.”
Mitch eyeballed them critically from the other side of the booth before reaching over with his fork. He hesitated over Sam’s plate, though, looking up at him silently for permission. Sam scooted the plate toward him, watching as Mitch took a bite.
“They’re not bad.” Mitch wiped his mouth with his napkin. “But mine are better.”
“You make tamales?” The very idea melted Sam’s brain.
“Sure. Nothing to it. Of course, mine aren’t anything compared to—” He stopped short.
“To?” Sam prompted.
But Mitch only shook his head. “Little bastard pops into my head every time I’m around you, doesn’t he, Sunshine?”
That comment made absolutely no sense to Sam, but something about Mitch’s body language told him it would be unwise to ask, so he didn’t. A strange silence came up between them, subtle but significant. Mitch retreated into his fajitas, but Sam lingered a moment, watching him eat.
“So you’re heading to Chicago?”
“Yeah.” Mitch still looked gruff. “In fact, to be honest, I should head out as soon as we’re done here.”
Sam’s chin came up sharply, and his fork lowered to his plate. “What?”
Mitch cleared his throat. His face was blank, no more teasing left in it at all. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s part of the delivery to L.A., and they need the warehouse for tomorrow morning, so tonight it is. I had to push to keep my meeting with you, to tell you the truth.”
It was a good excuse—valid and everything. But something about the way Mitch said it left Sam feeling funny, like Mitch was lying.
God, did he not want to have sex with Sam again?
What the hell had Sam said to screw this up?
Sam stopped eating and ducked his head, trying to hide his reaction. He felt foolish and confused. And cheated. It doesn’t matter. This was never going to be a long-term thing anyway. But it did matter. Telling himself not to be disappointed didn’t make his feelings stop.
“You all right?”
Sam startled at Mitch’s comment and hurried to pick up his fork. “Oh, fine.” He poked at his tamale, but he didn’t eat any more.
Damario pressed for dessert or more drinks, but Sam insisted he was too full, and Mitch declared he had to
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