I grab my GucciBelted wool crepe jumpsuitthat’s warmer than most jackets, all cream, cuffed ankles, pleated at the write-off, and a black collar. I slide on my leather Prada combat boots and matching gloves, then head down the steps with no accessories.
It must have taken longer than five minutes, though it felt like a couple, so I pick up my pace until I reach his side. After sliding his phone into his pocket, he looks me up and down.
“You look beautiful.” He smiles in the most un-ironic way that makes me melt.
“Thank you.” I manage to force from my shocked lips, and he smiles wider before opening the door for me and walking to the car.
“Isn’t security going to come with us?” I look back at the lights still on in the house.
“No. I told them we won’t be long.” He calls back as I follow him to my side of the car. I’m about to ask why he’s on my side when he opens the door for me and holds out his hand to help me up. I look at it for a second. No way am I going to take his hand when I’m completely capable of getting in the car on my own.
I take it anyway. Let him help me into the car and actually… enjoy it… he closes the door. I panic a little, feeling rather confused about this strange shift that I didn't see coming. Is this a new side of Antonio?
He gets in on his side, starts up the car, and we take off down the road.
“We should play a game,” Antonio suggests as we get further from the houses and into the country.
“Okay.” I perk up. Any chance I can take to beat him, I will. He explains this word association game, but none of the words can start with the letter S. It’s straightforward; just stay on topic and take a turn saying words related to the last without thinking. Most of the game is light. I win a fair few times, and Antonio loses a lot.
“You’re not very good at this game.” I laugh, and he rolls his eyes.
“Whatever. I’m starting.” He’s determined to win this time, but so am I. I motion for him to begin with my hand.
“Body,” Antonio smirks, glancing over at me to get my reaction. I roll my eyes and quickly continue.
“Head.”
“Lips.”
“Eyes.”
“Mouth.” He persists, taking it there again.
“Nose.” I attempt to change the direction he keeps pulling us in.
“Breath.”
“Chest.”
“Breasts.” I glare at him, and he’s giggling, clearly pleased with himself. “Please, don’t stop on my account, Lombardi.” He keeps his eyes on the road, a smile turned up on his smooth lips.
“Nipples.” I proudly cross my arms over my chest as he furrows his brows and quickly rebuttals without thinking, “Suck.”
“You lose.” “What?” He acts like this every time he’s lost— like he doesn’t know he used an S-word.
“Suck?” I reiterate.
“I mean, if you’re offering.” He raises a brow, grinning at me, mischief glowing in his piercing green eyes.
“Shut up.” I slap his arm with the back of my hand, smiling, though I try not to. He lets out a laugh, and we continue to drive until we reach an empty back-road, not a city light in sight. When the car’s in park, he jumps out before me, runs to the truck, and grabs something out of it, then at my side, he opens the door for me, and I slide out. As he closes the door, I squint at the object in his hand.
“Is that a picnic basket?”
“Yep.” He proudly declares.
“Where do you suppose we’re going to sit? The ground is muddy and—“ he swings his leg over the front of the car, sitting the basket down on the roof and reaching his hand for me to join.
“Um. These boots are Prada….”