“To save me looking like I’m doing the walk of shame?” I adjust my definitely not for daytime sparkly clutch on my knee.
“I’d say last night deserves a victory lap.” He swipes his thumb at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t hide the way his lips tip.
“Thanks for the loan of the cardigan, anyway.” I tighten the navy fisherman’s knit tighter over my dress. It’s long enough to hide the way my dress splits. And its length, I guess. My sparkly bag, heels, and sex hair, not so much. At least Aunt Doreen won’t make a fuss.Her being a woman of the world and all.“I’ll bring it into the office on Monday.”
“There’s no hurry. It’s been at my place for weeks.”
“Well, thanks to whoever it belongs to.” I have no business sounding snippy about who he spends time with (read: bangs) when I’ve told him I want to date half of London. I mean, who does that? Tries to solve a man problem by throwing a few more fictitious ones into the mix?
This idiot. Even if it is for the right reasons.
“Prim.” The accusation seems to hang in the air between us.
“I am not!” Just because I don’t have your kind of experience—” His lips tip kind of ironically. “Just because I want to see more of London doesn’t mean I’ll be banging men indiscriminately!”
“Primrose, my sister. That’s her cardigan.”
“Oh. Good. I mean, God. I mean, thanks to Primrose,” I say… primly.
“She hasn’t missed it yet. And I haven’t missed that this isn’t about you playing tourist.”
“Don’t, Whit,” I say plead softly.
“I’ll play along. For now.”
We fall quiet, the low hum of the radio filling the space between us.
“Well. That didn’t go as planned.”
“What didn’t?” The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them, and I frantically scan my mind for something else to say. “What kind of car did you say this was again?” I ask as he flicks on the turning signal, feeding the leather steering wheel expertly through his fingers.
“A Bugatti. Why, do you like it?”
“It’s cool.” And expensive, at a guess.
“Would you like to drive it sometime?”
“In London?” I ask, aghast. “Thanks, but no. Some of the streets look like they belong on aHarry Potterset. Ye olde world tiny,” I add when he doesn’t seem to follow my meaning.
“We could go out of the city. Find a quiet country lane.”
I shake my head. “I’m no good with a stick.” His laughter fills the space between us, deep and rich and so…him. “You know what I mean.”
“We don’t have to drive. We could always try that other thing you haven’t done in a car yet. Maybe you should make a list.”
“Like a bucket list?” Why does that feel like a sudden weight on my chest?
“A fuck-it list,” he amends. “Put car sex at the top of it, if you like.”
“I haven’t had sex in a car. I also haven’t eaten octopus. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do either.”
“I have. Truthfully?” he adds, his attention sliding my way. “Vastly overrated.”
“Octopus?”
“Both. But if it’s on your fuck-it list, I’ll give it another go.”
“I’m not a fan of seafood,” I say, turning my smile from him.
