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“No.”
“Yes, she’s ready,” Caroline told me as Gemma’s shoulders drooped in compliance. Doing what she was told for the first time tonight.
Frank ambled over to my side, and we hugged before I kissed Caroline’s cheek.
“Take care of my daughter,” she said, pressing her hand to my chest.
“Of course.” I smiled, genuinely, at her, and Gemma mumbled something that sounded like “too pretty for his own good” as she followed me outside. I pointed to my car, silently instructing her where to go.
“What’s this? The Batmobile?”
“I wish.” I unlocked the doors. “It’s a Mercedes-Benz.” Then I pointed to her bicycle. “What’s this?”
“My bike.”
“I can see that. I meant, why do you have it?”
“I rode it here.”
I raised one eyebrow, and she stared at me with such disdain a lesser man might have crumbled. Such attitude for such a little person.
“My car went to the junkyard a few months ago, and I bought a bike instead. Good enough reason?”
I lifted a shoulder. “That’s not going in my car.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
Pretending not to hear the question, I dropped into the driver’s seat. She could leave it here for all I cared, but my car didn’t have room for it.
“You know what? Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll ride home.” She sat on the bike a little wobbly and rode a few feet down the driveway then fell over.
I stomped over to her. “Get in the car.”
“No, I’m fine.”
I hauled her up with one hand on her elbow. “I told you not to drink so much.”
She ignored me, reaching for her bike.
“Look at you. You can’t even walk right.”
She stuck out her tongue at me. It was like dealing with a toddler.
“Real mature, Gemmie.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snarled.
“Don’t act like a child,” I snapped back.
She started off again, but in a few quick steps, I blocked her, my hands over hers on the handlebars. “Get in the car.”
Neither of us moved from our stand-off.
“Gemma.” It was the first time I’d used her name. I hated how much I liked saying it. Worse yet, the way her eyes widened slightly, as if she liked it too.
“Jason.”
“Get. In. The. Car.”
