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When Hailey slides behind the wheel and buckles in, I look over at her and study her profile. Her brow draws together in concentration as she examines the gear shift, switches, and knobs.
“I know most Americans don’t know how to drive a manual transmission, so if you find yourself overwhelmed, I’m happy to….”
Hailey turns to me, eyebrows raised, and her hand on the gear shift as she speaks in a falsetto voice, imitating a damsel-in-distress. “A manual transmission? Oh, my lands!” Popping the clutch, she adds, “Whatever shall I do with this big, heavy stick?”
I pat my mustache and remind myself that she does not know I’m a prince. If this were an official state meeting, if she had been hired by the palace to give me a tour of her country, emissaries would have traveled ahead of me to brief this woman on how to address me. She’d have been told not to use sarcasm with me because…well, I do not like it.
But the parts of my body that lie south of my belt buckle enjoyed how she said, “big, heavy stick.” I’m going straight to hell for making that sexual in my mind.
“Very well,” I concede as she switches gears. “Where shall we go first?”
Her eyes are on the road, but I see a mischievous glint and a lip curl. She may be a sassy woman, but Hailey is absolutely fetching. Her soft blonde hair is tucked behind a perfect conch of an ear. The shape of it fascinates me, as does the small bulbous lobe decorated with a long, dangling beaded earring. There’s a tiny freckle at the node in the middle, and I wish to touch it.
I wonder if anyone has ever sucked on it, taken that tender spot between their teeth, and nipped on it until this bossy woman’s words are garbled into nonsense.
I let my mind wander for a moment.
“What are you staring at?”
What a question.
Do I answer literally? I’m staring at the perfect woman to ground my haughty royal tendencies. The sweet to my bitter. The only person aside from my family to talk to me like a regular person. The woman whose tank top sends so much blood to my nether regions that all I can think about is pulling her on top of me, sinking my fingers into her fleshy hips, and making her pregnant.
My future wife.
6
Hailey
Where do you take a stranger who wants to see America at 7 a.m.?
There’s only one answer to that.
Waffle House.
“The lady will do the ordering, madam.”
The server shoots “Ben” — I guess I’ll call him that until he gives up that awful disguise and admits who he is — a look like she can’t decide if he’s giving her shit with that accent.
I order myself a biscuit sandwich, and I make Ben order hash browns all-the-way because I can’t very well introduce a foreigner to Waffle House without the very best hash brown experience.
“And also a tea, please,” Ben says.
Uh oh. I don’t ask him to clarify that for the server before she scribbles it down and walks away. This will be fun to watch.
“Strangely, the waitress did not ask how I take my tea. Is that normal?”
I smile over the rim of my coffee mug, enjoying the steam on my face, if not the taste of the coffee itself. “Where are you from, Ben?”
He is distracted by a couple arguing loudly in the next booth. “Um, Europe.”
“Ooh, Italy? Italians are so sexy,” I tease.
This gets his attention.
“No,” he says, snapping his gaze to me, his expression sharp. “Northern Europe.”
I light up. “Germany?”
