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“I’ll go change too,” Tate says as he starts to exit the room.
I follow after him, darting into my room and shutting the door. I go through my clothes, deciding on a cute floral-print dress, shedding my T-shirt and shorts quickly before I yank the dress into place. After brushing my hair and applying a little mascara, I slip on some white Nikes and go out into the hall to find Tate already waiting for me.
“Ready to go?” He’s got car keys in his fingers, twirling the key ring around, and I nod, eager to leave.
We walk out to the garage, and Tate hits a button so the door slides up. Two men from the security team appear in the driveway, frowns on their faces and sunglasses covering their eyes.
“Where are you two off to, Mr. Ramsey?”
“Going on a drive.” Tate opens the passenger-side door of the Porsche 911 for me, and I slip inside.
“Don’t you think we should accompany you?” The man is tall and broad and incredibly imposing, but Tate seems completely unfazed.
“Nope. We don’t plan on stopping anywhere.” He leans against the still-open door.
“Just driving?”
“Just driving,” Tate agrees with a nod before he glances down at me and winks.
He slams the car door, cutting me off from whatever conversation they continue having, and by the time he’s slipping into the driver’s seat, both men have entered the house. “Did you bring a hat?”
I shake my head, glancing toward the door that leads into the house. “Should I go grab one?”
“No. I brought one for you just in case.” He reaches into the narrow back seat and holds up the sun hat I like to use when I’m out by the pool. I see his black baseball cap sitting next to it on the seat. “You got sunglasses?”
I nod, holding up my Prada straw tote. “In here.”
“Perfect.” He starts the car and presses on the gas, the engine roaring to life, and then hits a button. The top of the car slowly lifts away from us, turning the Porsche into a convertible, and I can’t help it.
I laugh.
“Your laugh is like a song,” he tells me, his voice as serious as the look on his face, and my heart catches, I swear.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I ask, teasing him.
He smiles, shifting the car into reverse. “It’s a really good fucking thing.”
Tate backs the car out of the driveway and pulls out onto the street, taking off with a loud squeal of the tires as he shifts the car into a higher gear. He drives like a maniac through the neighborhood, and I reach out to brace my hand against the inside of the passenger door, yelping at every corner he takes.
The man drives like a demon, and when he finally notices the look of pure terror on my face, he starts to laugh. “It’s okay, Scar. I’ve got you.”
We come to a squealing stop at a red light, the engine rumbling, a sleek black BMW convertible stopping directly beside us. I glance over to find two beautiful blond women blatantly checking Tate out. One of them even slides her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to see him better.
“Damn it.” Tate turns his head toward me so they can’t see his actual face, his expression one of pure panic. “I forgot the hat.”
“And the sunglasses.” I reach into the center console and hold up the pair he brought with him, and he takes them from me, slipping them over his eyes.
“Maybe they don’t recognize me,” he murmurs.
“Hey, Tate!” one of the women yells.
He winces, and I can’t help it—I smirk at him. “I think they might.”
Ignoring them, he leans over the center console and presses his lips to mine, stealing my breath with one kiss. The light turns green, the car behind us honks with impatience, and within seconds Tate is facing forward once more, gunning the engine and zooming past the BMW. I turn and grab our hats from the back seat, plopping my sun hat on my head firmly so it won’t fly off before I hand the baseball cap to Tate.
“Put it on me,” he says with a grin as he slows down and turns right, onto the on-ramp for the freeway.
I flip it so the bill is backward and shove it on his head, leaning over and pressing my lips against his cheek. As I pull away from him, he grins, and something bubbles in my chest.
