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Chapter Twenty
Perry
The moment I’min the driver’s seat of the Chevelle, I exhale on a sigh of total relief.
It feels like coming home.
Which is some corny-ass shit, I’m not gonna lie. But damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve been behind the wheel of my orange baby, and it feels fucking good.
Like I’m on top of the world.
I shove the key in the ignition and crank it, pleased that it easily starts with a low rumble. I found a mobile car mechanic who met me at the garage and tinkered around under the hood, making sure it was at full running capacity. The battery needed a jump thanks to it sitting for so long, but otherwise he declared it ready to use.
“That is one fine-looking vehicle,” he told me just before he left, his gaze appreciative as he stared at my precious Chevelle. “You could command a pretty penny for it if you decided to ever sell it.”
“Never,” I said vehemently. “This is my most prized possession.”
Leaning forward, I run my hand along the smooth dashboard. Fiddle with the knobs on the radio until classic rock blares from the speakers. It seemed fitting, to listen to a little Led Zeppelin while driving this baby uptown to our apartment.
Led Zeppelin was one of my father’s favorite bands. Didn’t quite go with the suit-and-tie, boardroom behavior my father always lived by, but that’s what I loved about him. He wasn’t just one thing; he was multi-faceted.
I hope people consider me in the same light.
Ignoring the fear that’s suddenly coursing through my blood, I put the vehicle in reverse and back it out of the parking spot, the wheels squealing. I wasn’t even going that fast.
Okay. I’m lying. I always go fast in this baby.
As I drive to our apartment, I get a few honks of appreciation. Not every day you see a classic set of wheels driving in the middle of Manhattan. My family all hate this damn car, and at one point, after the accident, I did too.
But how could I hate this beauty? She gives me nothing but pure pleasure, and once I get my wife in the passenger seat and take her on a joy ride, forget it.
It’s going to feel so damn good seeing Charlotte sitting next to me, smiling and laughing as I drive too fast on the city streets, I just might fucking explode with happiness.
My mind goes back to what Winston told me earlier. I’ve already put a plan into action. Security was called and we’ll have a couple of extra guards patrolling the building or standing watch by our door in a day or two. I called a locksmith and he’ll be out tomorrow to change out the locks. Had to pay him extra to get him there in less than twenty-four hours but my peace of mind is worth it.
That and my wife’s safety. The most important thing of all. You’d think her own damn father would agree and do his best to try and protect her.
Fucker. He could give two shits about his own daughter.
Anger grips me and I curl my fingers around the steering wheel so tight, I’m white-knuckling it, telling myself I can’t let what Winston revealed ruin my night. I’ve had this planned since the flight home yesterday. I knew after I told Charlotte about my near-death experience in the Chevelle that I wanted to take her for a ride in the car. I don’t want to scare her—and I get the feeling my daredevil side most definitely scares her—but I want to show her this part of me. How I used to race, and I was damn good at it.
That’s something I don’t want to involve myself in anymore but I’m perfectly willing to drive this baby around the city and have a good time. We could grab some dinner. Maybe drive up to Bishop’s Landing and I can show her where I grew up. Then head back home, get naked and fuck each other’s brains out.
Yeah. That sounds like the perfect night.
The moment I pull up in front of the building, I’m grabbing my phone, about to text Charlotte when the building door opens and she’s there, heading straight for the car, her mouth dropping open in shock. I’d roll down the passenger window to say something to her but it’s got a crank handle, so I just wait for her to open the door.
Within seconds she does exactly that, ducking her head so she can study me. “Perry!”
I grin. I can’t help it. “What do you think?”
“It’s…” She bursts out laughing as she stands up straight and stares at my precious baby. “It’s super orange.”
“That’s my favorite part.” Not really. The engine is what makes my dick hard.
Not that my car actually makes my dick hard…
“It’s beautiful.” She ducks her head back inside and I want to tell her she’s the beautiful one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so pretty. Her eyes are sparkling and her hair is down and perfectly straight. She has on a flower-print dress with a denim jacket over it, and while I figured she’d show up in jeans and a sweater, this casual look works for me too.
