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Shocked, I put my wrist to my own nose and take a deep whiff. There’s no trace of buttercream, which surprises me even more than the initial scent did.
I’m more confused than ever.
“Oh. Thanks,” I mumble, trying to appear unbothered. If I had to guess, having a mental breakdown over phantom scents would probably be a turn off, and things have been going well between us so far. I don’t want to ruin it.
“Do you want to head back?” Ken asks, his eyes bouncing to the beach before he looks back at the Pinkmobile. “Or do you want to go for a ride? You can show me around Malibu.”
I should probably say no, but my stomach does a wonky cartwheel at the thought of getting him alone in my car. I’ve never fucked anyone in the Pinkmobile before, and the thought of how we could make it work has my imagination running wild.
There might not be that much room, but I’m pretty flexible.
My core throbs, and I fight to suppress a desperate noise clawing its way up my throat.
Damn, it’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid.
“Yeah, let me just text Kristie real quick and make sure she’s okay,” I say, looking back toward the dancing crowd on the beach. I can’t make out her shape or the alphas she was with from here, but I don’t want to just leave if she needs to make a quick getaway.
Me:Ken and I are going to take a ride. Will you be okay for a few?
Considering how preoccupied she was with the alphas earlier, I expect her to take a while to reply, but my phone pings after a short minute.
Kristie:He better give you the ride of your life. Take your time.
I snort a laugh and fish my key out of my bag, hitting the unlock button and jerking my head toward the Pinkmobile. I’m sure there should be warning bells ringing in my head, or at least a flashing sign saying this is a bad idea, but I’m too excited to care.
I’m not passing up this opportunity.
“Okay,” I say. “Hop in.”
five
BAILEY
“You really know how to handle this thing,” Ken remarks as we roll through downtown Malibu, and I smirk.
For what it’s worth, he plays the part of a tourist well. He admires the sites I point out, asking questions and seeming genuinely interested. He’s almost too good at it, and I wonder if it’s all a front to impress me.
Then, I look over at him when we stop at a red light, and his smile gives me butterflies. I no longer give a damn–he can say whatever he wants, as long as he keeps looking at me like I’m the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen.
“This is the physical therapy practice I worked at before I started my own,” I say, changing the subject as I point to a darkened block in a corporate strip. “And there’s the restaurant I own.”
We roll past Barbara’s, its hot pink sign lit up and blinking above the street as customers wait at the door to be seated. It’s a little 50s-themed diner with checkerboard floors and pink-topped tables. It’s the cutest thing, and I’m thankful my staff runs it like a well-oiled machine.
Now, I just pop in whenever I feel like it.
Like when I want a root beer float.
“Are you going to take me there one day?” Ken asks, a flirtatious lilt to his voice.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “I don’t know. How long are you in town?”
“A few more days,” he says. “I’m supposed to practice tomorrow before the competition, but… it’s not required.”
“You’d skip practice to come eat at my restaurant?” I laugh. “How sweet.”
“I’d skip practice just to spend time with you,” he says, making my cheeks warm. “You fascinate me. You’re not what I expected.”
“Oh? What did you expect?” I counter and roll my eyes, already having an idea of the things people normally assume about me.
