Page 43 of Hate It with You

The early morning sun shines through the windows behind her, framing her in the light. I was sure to go on my run this morning, but it didn’t do much in the way of tamping down my excitement when I see her.

“Let’s get this over with.” Her words are muffled by the ringing in my ears at the sight of her. It’s going to be a warm day, and she’s dressed for the occasion. She’s wearing a tight-fitting tanktop, the cut low enough to show off her collarbone tattoos. Instinctually, my tongue darts out to wet my lips, the memories of her soft lips touching mine flashing before me.

The hemline of her tank top barely reaches the waistband of the skirt that tightly hugs her hips, only a fraction of the tattoo running along her side covered by the fabric. I’m glad to see she took my suggestion of wearing skirts like this more often.

There’s only one problem…

I hand Beth her tea, her fingers brushing mine as she tentatively accepts it.

“You can’t wear that.” Her face twists up in a disgusted look, displeased with my words.

Motioning to her hair, I clarify, “The clip, you’ll have to take your hair down.” It pains me to say it, as she has a few messy strands framing her delicate facial features, drawing attention to her striking blue eyes and the makeup she’s so carefully painted on this morning.

She rolls her eyes before taking her hair down, shaking it out behind her. “Fine, where are we going anyway?”

“That’s a surprise,” I say, smiling, tilting my head in the direction of the stairwell for her to follow.

After locking the door behind her, she looks at me again. “You know this isn’t a date, right?”

“Sure, whatever you say.” I shrug and begin heading down the stairs, leaving her behind.

“Alex!” The way she squeals my name kicks up my heart rate. The pace at which her sneakers hit the steps behind me causes me to hold in a laugh.

It’s probably the closest thing I’ll get to having her chase me for once. I revel in the feeling.

She follows me outside to my Mustang, continuing to insist that this isn’t a date. My only response is a head nod, not looking to piss her off today.

As any gentleman would, I open the passenger side door for Beth. I do my best not to look at her hips when she climbs into the custom racing seats I’ve installed.

After shutting the door, I run around to the driver's side with a speed that doesn’t do much to hide my excitement.

Taking a seat, I glance at Beth, who’s still fidgeting with the four-point harness. I chuckle when I notice she can’t seem to get the right pieces to connect. Reaching over, I stall my hands just before touching the buckle, waiting for a nod of consent from her before making quick work of fastening her in.

“How much did it cost for all of this?” Beth motions around to the custom interior.

I shrug, now fastening my own harness. “Only the price of parts. I installed everything myself.” When she looks at me in shock, I smile in her direction. “Oh, I forgot, I haven’t shown you how good I can be with my hands yet.”

I hold my hand up to her, showing off the tattoo she mentioned she loved so much the other night. When her cheeks turn pink, she swats my hand away as she looks out the window to hide the smile teasing the corners of her lips.

“Ready?” I ask Beth, laughing.

“As I’ll ever be,” she breathes in her best frustrated tone, though the blush has yet to wash from her face.

Pulling up the playlist I made special for today, I hit play, the music flowing through the aftermarket speakers I’ve installed. When the Mustang roars to life beneath me, a sense of calm washes over me as my foot hits the clutch, my right hand working to throw the car into first gear. The bass of her favorite songs reverberates through our seats as we take off toward our destination.

By the end of the day, after what I have planned, Beth will be in love with my car.

“No fucking way.” Beth reaches toward the dash, turning down the music as we pull into our destination.

The local racetrack. A favorite pastime of mine on my day off.

Throwing a hand out toward the windshield, she motions to the track in front of us, and says, “This is how you make me fall in love with this car?” Her tone tells me she’s entirely unconvinced.

I’m laughing as I wave to Enzo, the front gate attendant, who I’m happy to say has become a good friend of mine over the years. He’s already opening the gate when he sees me pull the car forward, anticipating my arrival.

Usually on the weekends there’s a line of cars here waiting to get their turn on the track. One call to Enzo earlier this week and he was able to pull off a couple of private hours this morning for Beth and me.

Beth crosses her arms as we slowly inch toward the starting line on the track. Putting the car in Park, I hop out, moving to grab the helmets I’ve stored in my trunk.