My competitive streak is coming out, and admittedly, there’s nothing I want more than to see that fucker suffer.
If it means I have to touch her, I’ll touch her.
If it means I have to kiss her, I’ll kiss her.
“So…” she begins, then stalls. “Maybe we should discuss the boundaries.”
“Boundaries?”
“You know… like we should probably kiss every now and then.”
“How often?” I question.
“Does there need to be a timeline here?”
I’m thinking about her question. Narcissistic Drew is ready to play this wicked game. How do I make this more fun for me? Okay, Satan, please calm down on your side of the shoulder.
Kissing. I can handle that. I’m about to open my mouth when she interrupts me.
“No tongue.”
I let out a ridiculous laugh. “How do you even kiss with no tongue?”
“I don’t know, Drew. They do it in the movies.”
“The last time I checked, Zo, we aren’t in Hollywood.”
“Fine. Just a little tongue but nothing porno-like.”
Nothing porno-like? An interesting concept that stirs my cock slightly.
“Okay. What else?” I humor her.
“Grab my butt a couple of times,” she adds.
“Right. So romantic,” I note in dark amusement. “But not a porno grab?”
She shifts her body to the right, curling her legs up on the seat. Her legs are exposed until she becomes aware, positioning her dress more appropriately. “Just look like you’re in love with me. Make out like we have the best sex in the world. Capiche?”
I don’t answer her. If she were with me, we would have the best sex in the world. Better than what she had with that deadbeat she calls an ex-boyfriend.
I turn the bend, and the large wrought-iron gates appear with a huge sign welcoming us to the property. Holy shit, it’s a castle, an old castle that appears to have been remodeled, yet still maintains its historic charm. The gates are already open, so I turn into the long, pebbled driveway.
The lawns are luscious and green, surrounded by bushes sculpted into cupids with harps. Every inch of the garden is manicured, and the flowers are bright, trimmed to perfection. The further we drive in, the larger the fountain appears, sitting in front of the property, showcasing the entrance.
Two young valets stand on the steps, and the second they see my car, their faces drop with disappointment. So Betty is no Rolls-Royce, but she was a classic in her own right.
“Huh, the valet boys seem disappointed with your ride,” Zoey mentions, pointing out the obvious.
“No shit. The car in front of us costs more than a house. They better not ride her clutch hard,” I worry out loud.
“I’m sure if they can drive a car the price of a house, they can drive Betty.” She rolls her eyes childishly, turning to face the window so I won’t catch her.
Our doors are opened by the young valet, and reluctantly, I hand my keys over but not without mentioning the clutch.
“We’ll take care of your car… sir,” the valet snickers.
Little fucker.