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“Go. You can use my car.”
He’s going to let me drive his pristine 1971 Dodge Charger?
“What?” he asks. “You don’t let me drive it anymore anyway. Someone should have the chance to enjoy it.”
“Aren’t cars with combustion engines banned in Winter Falls?”
He smirks. “Not my car.”
There’s a story there, but I won’t be learning it from my uncle. The man is a closed book. Or maybe a vault of secrets. Either way, he doesn’t tell me anything.
I only know about the combustion engine thing because I got pulled over when I first arrived in town. The police officer didn’t believe Mercury was my uncle and insisted on following me to his house.
“Someone named Cayenne is on her way over.”
Mercury grunts. “I’ll handle her.”
I’m afraid to ask. My uncle has been known to put a sheet over him and run around the house pretending to be a ghost to scare little kids away. What he doesn’t realize is he’s putting on a show they will return to again and again.
Honestly, though, I could use a break from Mr. Crotchety. Plus, there’s no way I’m missing the chance to drive his muscle car. I snatch the keys from the hook by the door.
“I won’t be long.”
“Don’t hurry back on account of me.”
I roll my eyes. Everything I’ve done for the past few months is for him. But does he appreciate it?
I shut the door behind me, making sure it doesn’t rattle, and smile at the car. I’d love to get my hands under her hood.
I run my fingers along the hood as I make my way to the driver’s seat. This baby is a thing of beauty. Way better than the piece of junk I drove into town with.
I turn the key and the engine roars to life. The power of the car rumbles under my ass and I grin. I can handle a stupid rock and roll party if it means I can drive this car for a few minutes.
I back out of the driveway and turn the car toward town. The drive to Gibson’s house is over in less than five minutes. I sigh when I arrive. I’d rather spend the day driving through the backroads of Colorado but alas. A promise is a promise.
I’m here.
When I notice Gibson walking toward the car, I open the door and step out. He whistles.
“Are you whistling at me or the car?”
He winks. “Can’t it be for both?”
I roll my eyes. It’s not bad enough Gibson’s a rockstar, he’s also a player. That’s two strikes against him.
I slam the car door shut. “Let’s do this.”
“You can at least pretend to be excited.”
He must be joking. “Excited about what?”
“Me. I am a catch, you know.”
I stop myself before I roll my eyes again. I have a feeling I’m going to be rolling my eyes a lot until our deal is finished.
Gibson holds out his hand. When I scowl at him, he wiggles his fingers. “Girlfriends hold their boyfriend’s hand.”
“Fine,” I mutter.
