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His team runs out toward the car with the widest grins on their faces.
“You did it! You son of a bitch, you did it!” one of them shouts.
I’m not sure what he did, but whatever it is, it must be great from the reaction he is getting on the track. My ears ring from the loud exhaust of his car. I never asked what car this was, but he always takes me in it, and people just stare at it when we drive by on the street. It must be something special about the car I am not privy to. I have never seen one built like this one, and it looks like something you see in the TV showCar and Driver.
Lane opens the door so I can get out. I smile and step aside, his team rambling on about lap times and mechanical parts of the car. Lane lifts the hood of the car while one guy checks the tires. The weather is cool as we enter fall and, according to Lane, perfect to test out his build.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch how excited everyone is for Lane. The wind picks up and blows my hair in my face. When I get a handle on my hair, I look up, and Lane is standing in front of me.
His expression softens. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, giving me a hug.
I breathe him in. His cologne, gas, and burnt rubber I have become familiar with. He’s safe. He’s home.
The house Lane purchased in Charlotte, North Carolina, is a two-story home with four bedrooms and a three-car garage. It has one of those hanging gas lanterns when you walk up the front door I love so much.
When he was house hunting, he asked me to come along. The real estate agent showed us different properties in the area. After she showed us the last one, we went for coffee, and he asked what I thought. He said he couldn’t decide. He laid out four pieces of paper on the table. They each had pictures of thehouses, but I kept staring at the one with the pretty wood double door with the gas lantern. I told him it was up to him what he thought was best.
He got up and excused himself to the restroom. When he came back, he was quiet. He picked up the papers and told me he had made his decision. I was relieved from being put on the spot. How could I choose a place when he was paying for it? It was bad enough I felt I was taking advantage of him.
After a week of waiting until the paperwork went through, I smiled when he pulled up to this house. He knew.
I place my hand on the soft fabric of a dress I was able to get on sale at a boutique shop in downtown Charlotte. It has thin light pink spaghetti straps, almost the color of powder and hits almost midthigh. I paired it with a cardigan and let my hair down. I applied makeup in nude shades, hoping it doesn’t look overdone.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slide my feet into nude pointed-toe ankle boots. Exie had sent them over as a birthday gift from Neiman Marcus. They are extravagant and from a designer I can’t even pronounce.
Lane knocks on my door, and I call out, “Just a minute.” I look once more in the mirror to make sure I look okay.
When I open the door, Lane looks at me from head to toe. When his gaze lands back on mine, he has an unreadable expression, and I’m not sure if I’m overdressed. I chew the side of my lip nervously and look down at my outfit.
“Do I look okay?” I ask. “I could change.”
His eyes widen in panic. “No, please,” he begs. “You look… beautiful. I’m just…nervous.” He smiles and grabs my hand gently and pulls me toward him.
I visibly swallow. He looks handsome with his fitted, long-sleeved black crewneck sweater and stone-washed jeans. His hair is straight and long with one strand curled across hisforehead. He has a faint stubble that looks sexy with his dark eyes framed by dark lashes.
He cups my face in his hands, and the smell of citrus from his cologne envelops me. He angles his head slowly and captures my lips. The kiss is gentle and soft.
My hands grip his strong shoulders, and I love the way he is patient. How he doesn’t want to overstep and ruin the moment. He pulls back, breaking the kiss, but I move forward and capture his lips once more, sliding my tongue inside his mouth. His hand slides down to my lower back and pulls me against him. I feel how much he wants me. There’s no question: Lane Turner wants me.
He takes me to a nice restaurant in Charlotte called the Bentley, and we’re seated in a corner table for two. We curious glances and a man wearing a black suit with a blue tie nods at Lane.
I lean forward and whisper, “Do you know him?”
Lane shakes his head. “Never seen him before.”
The server approaches, and we place our order. After a few seconds, Lane furrows his brow and continues to scan the menu.
“Will that be all?” the server asks.
I ordered the least expensive plate on the menu. There is no way I could order anything that would cost Lane more than necessary.
“Yes,” I reply, glancing at Lane. “Unless…Lane?”
Lane hands the server his menu. “I’m good,” Lane says while I hand the server mine. When the server walks away, I can see the worry in his expression. The same one he gives me when I refuse to take the money he leaves me in the box on the kitchen island for groceries. Or the fancy car he has parked in the driveway for me to use, and I take an Uber instead. There is no way I can take more from him. I don’t pay rent or utilities.He pays my cell phone every month ahead of time. He also has a cleaning lady who comes three times a week and refuses to let me clean the house.
“Aura…”
A man no later than his twenties walks up to our table. He glances at me and smiles, making my skin crawl with the way his gaze lingers on my breasts. I lift my chin, clearly offended.
