AllFreeNovel
Share Us
BECK: Wear a swimsuit.
I raise my eyebrows, intrigued. Then quickly change into the blue bikini I brought before pulling the same shirt back on with a pair of jean shorts. Since we’re hiking, sneakers seem like the best option. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, add a swipe of mascara, stick my phone in my back pocket, and then head out into the hallway.
Alexis is sprawled out on the couch in the living room when I walk downstairs, sucking on a popsicle. “You’re headed out?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you wearing a bikini?”
“Uh, yeah. Laundry day. See you later.” I continue outside before she can ask any more questions.
Beck is already waiting at the front entrance of the park, leaning against a shiny black sports car parked along the curb.
I snort as I survey the sleek lines. “Of course this is the car you drive.” It practically screams I’m a sexy millionaire.
“You don’t like it?” Beck asks, feigning disappointment. At least, I think it’s false.
“I didn’t say that.” I smirk when I catch him checking out my boobs. The bright color of my bikini is visible through the thin cotton, and I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a factor when I decided to wear it.
He says nothing else; just straightens and heads for the driver’s seat. I climb into the passenger side.
Beck’s car smells like him. Masculine and musky. With a rich undertone of expensive leather.
I study the spotless interior. My car is always littered with hair ties, empty water bottles, and spare shin guards. Beck’s looks like it was driven off the dealership lot twenty minutes ago.
“Where are we hiking?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
I snap the seatbelt into place, surveying the fancy dashboard. “Isn’t it blasphemous to drive an Italian car when half the country considers you their Kaiser?”
“Wow. You learned one German word.”
I roll my eyes. Admittedly, I’m not doing much to dispel the self-centered American stereotype. Every other Scholenberg attendee is bilingual. At least.
“And it’s a lot more than half,” he continues.
“I can’t believe your ego fits in this little car.”
One corner of his mouth curves up, and I experience a flash of victory at the sight.
“It’s common knowledge that Germany produces the best soccer players and Italy builds the best cars,” Beck tells me.
“So you didn’t buy one of the most expensive cars in the world just to show off how much money you make?” I don’t know the exact number, but I’m positive it’s a lot more than I—or any other female athlete—will ever make.
“I didn’t buy this car.”
“You stole it?”
He snorts. “I did an ad campaign for them. The car was part of the deal.”
“Must have been one hell of an ad. Did you have to show your dick?”
“If I had, I could’ve gotten a lot more than this car.”
I roll my eyes. “Your penis isn’t that impressive.”
“Impressive enough for you to text me about a rematch on your day off,” Beck shoots back.
