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“I’m an idiot?” he asks with an arched brow.
“If the shoe fits.” I turn the page of the newspaper in front of me, embarrassed that he makes me swoon like a teenager on heat, and that he bloody well knows it.
“Oh, it fits,” he replies darkly.
I lift my eyes to meet his.
“The shoe fit perfectly.” He pauses for effect. “Like a glove.” He widens his eyes.
I smirk. “Perverted,” I mouth as I turn back to my paper and pick up my coffee.
“Just how you like it.”
I smirk as my eyes rise to meet his. He’s on to something there. I do like it… Very much.
“I need a computer,” he tells me, changing the subject. “I need to do some research.”
“Maybe we should just buy one?”
He nods. “Yes, good thinking. That can be our next stop and then we hire a car and go to the deposit box.”
I hold my coffee up and he clinks his with mine.
“We make a good team, you and me.” I smile.
He smiles into his coffee cup as his eyes drop to my lips, and I feel my insides clench. “In more ways than one.”
* * *
Two hours later and we are at the rental car company. Stace is sitting on a row of seats at the back of the office while he connects the Wi-Fi on our new laptop. I’m standing next to him as I wait to be called to the desk. His left hand runs up and down my leg as he sits deep in concentration while he boots up our Internet. His hand slides up my leg, and then back down, back up and under my dress and back down again. I have my arms folded as I stand and wait my turn.
“What kind of car should I get?” I ask.
“Something inconspicuous.”
“Where are we dropping it off?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe Chile.”
I look around nervously. “When will you know?”
“When I get this fucking Internet working and find out where we have to go to sell the…” He widens his eyes.
“Oh, right,” I whisper. Of course.
His hand slides up my leg again as I watch him over his shoulder and I glance over to see a middle aged woman sitting in the row of seats watching us. What’s she looking at?
His hand slides up my leg again and I drop my head to hide my smirk.
Oh… that.
Look at me. I’ve gotten so used to his hands on me all the time that I don’t even notice he does it anymore. What must we look like? Me in a short, slutty dress with a blonde wig, and him being his edible self, running his hands up and down my leg in public while he concentrates.
“Rebecca Williams,” the girl at the desk calls out. I walk over to where she is sitting.
“Yes, I would like to rent a car, please.” I slide over my passport.
“Drivers license.”
