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I roll my eyes as he opens the car door for me. When I hesitate, he dips his chin, daring me to argue.
Who said chivalry is dead?
“It’s a pretty mouth you have, but please do your best to keep it shut. I have a headache.”
I press up on my tiptoes, finally seeing the glossiness in his eyes. “You’re hungover.”
“Just get in the car.”
Sighing, I slide into the passenger seat before he slams the door a little too hard.
As he pulls out of my neighborhood, I turn in my seat and stare, loving how uneasy it’s making him.
“Hot date?”
Shut up, Claire.
Why do I even care?
But I’m nosy, and he’s impenetrable.
He curses under his breath.
“But you didn’t have sex.”
He’s far too tense.
His eyes widen, the muscles in his jaw twitching.
“Nobody is this grumpy after getting laid,” I explain.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, soothing what I’m assuming is a throbbing headache. “You’re all rainbows and unicorns this morning. Can I assume you did?”
“Me and Henry had the best time last night.”
His nostrils flare, his grip on the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles have turned white.
The hangover must be bad.
“Who the fuck is Henry?” he grits out, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
“My vibrator.”
He chokes, and I erupt into a cackle.
“Fucking hell, Claire.”
“Don’t be a prude. He’s the best. He doesn’t catch feelings, and he doesn’t talk back. He’s not a fan of cuddles, though.”
Shifting in his seat, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel, silence engulfing us once more.
I hate silence, and he grabs my hand when I attempt to switch on the radio.
More questions it is.
“Was she nice?”
He shoots me a look before his gaze returns to the road.
