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He tries to hide his smile behind his hand.
“Do not laugh at me,” I bite out. But I can’t help it; his grin is contagious.
“Sorry.”
We look at each other and burst out laughing.
“If you leave my truck, I’ll think about having dinner with you.”
He reaches for the door handle. “I’ll pick you up at seven this Friday.”
“Don’t count on me opening the door,” I tell him, as he steps out.
“You’ll open it.” His cocky smile is fully back in place.
“Why?”
“Because I know tacos are still your favorite,” he says, slamming the door shut before walking away. “See you tomorrow in the studio, babe.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, staring at his ass. He doesn’t look back but he knows I’m watching him, judging by the way he rakes both his hands through his hair, flexing his muscles as he walks up to the house.
