Jax laughs. “Okay, but remember, the last time we did that, you felt like crap afterward.”
The memory of my bloated stomach and the sick full feeling that accompanied it come back to me. Okay, so maybe the idea of that meal is more appealing than the meal itself. Jax is correct. The last thing I need to feel on top of the unease already permeating every pore is ill.
“You are totally right. Subway?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds good.”
“Would you rather live on a deserted island with a serial killer or live n***d in a dump for the rest of your life?” I ask from across the table at Subway.
Jax’s lips release the straw of his soda, and they turn up into a smile. “Okay, but if I were in a dump, don’t you think I could find some discarded clothes? Why would I have to go n***d?”
I
