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Nixon lets out a sigh, “You totally forgot, didn’t you?”
“Not at all.”
“You did. I knew I should have reminded you last night before leaving. Then again, I’m not sure you’d have remembered this morning anyway.”
Yeah, I guess there was that tidbit.
Plus, I was doing my best to avoid Nixon for the better part of the night and forced Grace and Rei to dance with me instead. I hated avoiding my brother, but after he almost caught Prescott and me and everything that had happened, I kind of made a point of staying away. The last thing I needed was for my brother to start asking questions.
“I’ll be there, don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“You better. You missed it last time.”
“Because you’re having brunch early. On aSunday,” I protest, pulling open my closet and grabbing the first shirt I can get my hands on.
“It’s eleven in the morning. I hardly think that constitutes as early.”
“Well, it’s my only day to sleep in.”
“You don’t have any classes before ten. Ever.”
“That’s because I don’t do well in the mornings,” I let out a sigh. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you in a few.”
Before he can say anything else, I hang up. Tossing the phone on the bed, I grab a bra, slide it on, and fasten the clasp. My boobs feel tender, but I don’t let myself think too much about it before tugging the tee over my head just as the phone buzzes once again.
“What now?” I mutter, grabbing the phone only to find a text message waiting for me.
Nixon: Just so you’re not tempted to go back to bed, you have a driver waiting so you better hurry up.
I roll my eyes.
Me: I don’t need a babysitter.
Nixon: Hurry up.
Oh, now he’s went and done it.
As slowly as possible, I pull on my leggings, ‘cause nobody should have to suffer through pants on a Sunday after being awoken way too early before going to the bathroom to finish getting somewhat presentable. It’s a good fifteen minutes before I get out of the apartment.
I look around the parking lot, searching for the familiar black BMW, when my phone vibrates. Lowering my gaze, my brows pull together when I notice the unfamiliar number on the screen. I’m about to answer it when the phone call ends as quickly as it started, and that’s when I hear it. The low purr of the engine.
My head snaps up, and I do a double take as a black Mustang pulls from one of the parking spots and approaches me. I suck in a breath, and I swear my heart does a little flip in my chest.
What the hell’s he doing here?
Before I can process what’s going on—or, you know, run inside—the car comes to a stop in front of me. I just stare at it, unsure of what to do, but before I can decide, Prescott leans over the passenger’s seat and opens the door for me.
“Do you plan to get in today or what?” he asks in that irritating tone of his that has me crossing my arms over my chest defensively.
“Youare my ride?”
“No, the little green people will come to fetch you in a bit,” he deadpans. “Yes, I’m your ride. Now, can you get your ass in the car, or do you need me to do it for you?”
I don’t budge an inch. “I thought Nixon was waiting for me.”
“He probably remembered that I live in the building next door, so he texted me to pick you up and gave me your number in case you don’t show up. So, are you coming or what?”
I roll my eyes at him and slide into the car. “Why are you so grumpy?” I give him a side eye as I pull on my seatbelt. “I thought you were a morning person.”
