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He glances at me again––at my necklace to be exact––before shifting his eyes to the road.
“Who gave you that?”
“Who do you think?”
He arches an eyebrow at me.
“Alejandro?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He flashes a grin.
“Hmm… The man knows how to do these things.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he says, steering left. “I suspected Francisco had bought you the party dresses…”
He stops as if wanting to say something else but changes his mind at the last moment.
“Is that what he usually does?” I ask, grappling with a suspicion. “He likes to dress his women?”
“No.”
“He usually gets them naked,” I murmur, my eyes glued to his profile.
He gestures in response, admitting it before contradicting himself.
“I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t get them naked??”
He breathes out a laugh.
“It’s not something I like to talk about. Frankly, I don’t know if he buys gifts routinely, but he surely likes that type of dress. Besides, they look fantastic on you.”
I stay quiet.
“What do you like?” I ask eventually.
He peers at me, his eyes gleaming in the dimness.
“You know what I like…” he says softly, giving me a swift once over. “I liked you this evening…” he adds.
“You didn’t like me this morning much.”
He bites his lip and shifts his eyes away, slowing his ride while approaching an intersection.
“This morning was different.”
His smile seems gone from his voice.
He glances at me and searches my eyes before bringing the car to a stop and waiting for traffic lights to turn green.
“I liked you even this morning…” he finally says, and I wish we would have a few more moments so he can tell me more before setting ourselves in motion again.
“You didn’t fuck me as if you liked me.”
