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He snorted. “Nice try, but a gentleman never lets a lady pay for her own meal.”
“This is the twenty-first century for Christ sake! I can pay for my food!” I was about two seconds away from stomping my foot, but held myself back.
Trace watched me, not saying a word, waiting for me to calm down.
“You good now?” He asked after a moment.
“I’m good,” I tugged on my sweater to have something to do with my hands.
“So, we can get lunch now? ‘Cause I’m starving,” he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He grabbed a green plaid shirt that hung on a hook next to the open garage door and shrugged it on.
“Yes,” I snapped and he straightened from his casual pose, “but I am paying for my meal.”
“You just keep on thinking that,” he brushed by me with a cocky grin.
Damn that grin and what it did to my insides.
I followed him outside and to the right of the rectangular building.
Handing me my keys, he informed me, “Your car will be fine in the garage. Luca will close and lock it when he leaves for lunch…if he leaves, that is.”
“Who’s Luca?” I asked, standing next to the passenger door of Trace’s sleek black sports car. It was definitely old, but well maintained. However, with my limited knowledge of car brands, I had no clue what it was.
“I’m sure your friend will introduce you to him,” he winked.
“Oh,” I gulped, remembering him calling out that name when we passed them.
Trace slid into his car and motioned me to get inside.
I took a deep breath, hoping that this was a good idea. I mean, I didn’t really know Trace, and I was getting into his car to go Lord knows where.
“You don’t have to look
so scared,” he grinned when I slid inside, running my fingers over the buttery smooth leather seats.
“I’m not scared,” I scoffed. “Okay, maybe a little,” I admitted. “This isn’t something I normally do.”
“Eat lunch?” He quirked a brow, a smile tugging his lips up crookedly.
“Ha, ha,” I scrunched up nose. “No, what I mean is, I don’t normally get into the car of a guy I just met.”
He smiled again, the one that made panties drop everywhere. “But we didn’t just meet. If I recall, we met last night.”
“Why do I feel like I would never win an argument with you?” I grumbled.
“Because you wouldn’t,” he smirked, backing out. “I’m a Wentworth and we never lose an argument. It’s in our blood.”
I laughed at his comment. “Where are we going?” I asked, watching Pete’s Garage disappear behind us.
“To get lunch,” he answered, rubbing his stubbled jaw.
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks Einstein, but I knew that.”
“Just a little sandwich shop,” he shrugged. “Nothing fancy.”
We grew quiet and I let out a giggle.
“What?” Trace flicked his gaze to me.
