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The guy – probably making close to minimum wage – looks up, his eyes trailing over Pete’s suit and the expensive BMW.
“I think you’ve had enough breaks cut your way, buddy.”
“Yeah, I get that’s how it looks, but my run of luck is at an end if you clamp a company car. I’ll never live it down.”
The guy’s eyes roam over Pete again as he stands, the clamp still firmly attached to the car’s wheel. His eyes drift to me, and it starts snowing - soft, cold flakes drifting around us.
Oh, hell no. I’m not waiting for the bus in the fucking snow. Closing the distance between Pete and me, I slide my arm around his waist, molding myself to his side as he glances down at me in surprise.
“Come on. Please? We just got engaged. I don’t want the night to end with a bus ride.”
Pete is a statue under my hand, though one of his hands does come to rest on my hip. Thank god. It would have been a little awkward if he stayed with it hanging loosely at my side. Not to mention it would kill the story before it even got convincing.
The guy throws me a pitying look and sighs, shaking his head.
“All right. Just this once.” Ducking down, he removes the clamp, nodding to us as he straightens. “Congratulations. You’re a lucky man.”
His eyes stare at my stocking-clad legs. Hey, if it was my legs that got me into a heated car, he can stare away.
Taking his clamp, he smirks as he takes Pete’s offered hand, shaking it. The guy’s hand disappears into his pocket as Pete steps back, depositing whatever tip Pete slipped him, and he climbs into his truck, the guy waves and drives off slowly – probably looking for more nights to ruin.
As soon as the truck turns down another street, Pete’s other hand lands on my waist, and he sets me away from him, a frown on his face.
“I’m not in the habit of lying to get myself out of trouble,” he says stiffly.
I can’t stop my eyes rolling in time, and his own eyes narrow at the sight.
“Oh, come on. Just live a little. It was a harmless story that got us out of here and out of the snow.”
Pete’s jaw is still stiff as he opens the passenger door. Oh, good. I was worried he was going to rescind his offer. The snow is swirling a little harder now, and I sink into the buttery leather seats, the door closing firmly beside me.
When Pete slides in, he starts the ignition, and the warm air blows immediately from the vents. The seat beneath me starts to warm as well.
“Heated seats? This is heaven.”
Pete smirks, pulling away from the curb, his eyes darting across to me.
“Address?”
Oh, yeah. My plan. I give him an address. It’s not mine, but it’s going to be fun.
PETE
Tinker Bell is humming along to the song on the radio, seemingly oblivious to where we are driving, bouncing her head to the tune. I spot a parking space, pulling into it and craning my neck. This doesn’t look like a residential building. It seems like a glass-covered office skyscraper here in Downtown Seattle. There aren’t even any lights on in the foyer.
“Uh, you sure this is the right address?” I ask, but she’s already smirking at me, her gray eyes dancing with mischief as she slides out of the car. I reach over to attempt to stop her until she answers the question, but my fingers close on air - she’s already gone. Fuck.
Shoving out of the car, I lock it and hurry after her, across the sidewalk to where she is standing at an after-hours entry keypad. Flashing me a smile, she taps in a code, and the doors slide open. Okay, maybe this is some weird residential building.
I’m still not getting that vibe off this place, and she hasn’t told me to leave, so I follow her. My eyes land on the large sign as we approach the elevator bank. Delta Harding Shipping, Inc. Not a residential building, then.
“Uh, Tinker Bell? I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here.”
“If we’re not supposed to be in here, how did I know the code?”
Okay. She has a point. But this still isn’t her home, which is where I said I would take her. An elevator dings, the doors opening, and she walks in, her eyebrows raising as she challenges me to follow her.
I’m not about to leave her to get into trouble all on her own, so I sigh, stepping in as the doors begin to close. This is a bad fucking idea. I better not get arrested. That wouldn’t do my reputation any favors. Can you imagine the headlines? Rampwood Busted? No, thank you.
“So, why do you know the code?”
