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My mouth drops open. “Your car is worth more than my house.”
He shrugs. “It’s just a car.”
“And yet, you’d let me drive it?”
He glances over at me and winks. “If you’d let me, I’d buy you one.”
“You’re crazy. Certifiable. When was the last time you had a psychological exam?”
“Two years ago.”
“Wait. What? You’ve had a psychological exam? I was joking.” I realize I sound like a jerk and start backpedaling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make fun of mental problems. I was shocked is all.”
His hand lands on my thigh and he squeezes. “It’s okay, June Bug. I know you were joking. One of the movies I did required I pass a psych exam before they’d insure me during filming.”
“Phew. You’re not an ax-wielding psychopath?”
“I am not.” He caresses my thigh. “And don’t think I don’t know you switched the topic of conversation because you’re freaked out about driving my car.”
“I’m not freaked out about driving your car. I can drive the hell out of this car.”
I’m full of shit. I’m twenty-six years old and only have a driver’s license because Mom required all of her daughters to get one when we turned eighteen. She insists we be prepared. For what, I don’t know, but my mom and preparation are best buds. Thus, the plethora of safe sex talks I endured as a child.
“Then, why are you having a mini freak-out over there?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I am not having a mini freak-out.”
“Uh-huh. And your toe isn’t tapping, and your thigh isn’t jumping.”
“You’re supposed to pretend not to notice.”
“Sorry.” He traces circles on my thigh with his thumb and I nearly forget what we’re talking about. I want him to move his hand a bit higher, underneath my skirt. I’m caught between opening my legs to give him room to work or closing them so I can rub my thighs together for a little relief.
“Please tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
His words bring me out of my fantasy where he’s laid me across the hood of his car and— I shut those thoughts down. Stop acting like a hussy, Juniper. You stop acting like a hussy, I tell my body.
His hand travels from my thigh to caress my cheek. “What’s wrong, June Bug?”
With his hand no longer near my core, the fog lifts from my mind. “You said you’d buy me a car worth two-hundred-thousand dollars. Why wouldn’t I be freaking out?”
“One, I wouldn’t buy you this model. You’d get the hundred-thousand-dollar one.”
I slap his shoulder. “You’re not funny.”
He glances over and winks at me. “Except you’re smiling.”
“Whatever.”
“Second, I love you. I want to spoil you.”
I clear my throat. “You know I’m not with you because of your fame and fortune, don’t you?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, Juniper, I figured out pretty early on you weren’t interested in money when you refused to accept an annual pay raise.”
I shrug. “I make enough money to live a comfortable life. I don’t need more.”
“June Bug, you deserve more. You work harder than anyone I know.”
