I smirked and told him, “No, Jack, I’m definitely a sinner. Once we get to my apartment, I intend to illustrate that point vividly and repeatedly.”
He raised a well-groomed brow. “Repeatedly? You sure your mouth isn’t writing checks your dick can’t cash?”
That little brat. “What are you suggesting, that I’m too old to get it up more than once?”
“I’m just saying, once a man hits forty, the plumbing isn’t always up to code.”
“I’m thirty-seven, thank you very much.”
“Apologies. That’s obviously a huge difference.”
“That smirk makes me want to put you over my knee. Just saying.”
“You love this smirk. It’s what drew you to me.”
He wasn’t wrong. “So, now you know how old I am. What about you?” He was going to lie about his age. I’d put money on it.
“You want to know how badly you’re robbing the cradle? I’m twenty-seven, Gramps.” He knit his brows at my snort and asked, “You don’t believe me?”
“Sorry, doll face, but you’re thirty-three if you’re a day.”
“You know what? Fuck you. I’m going to go see if I can get that spit roast back on track.” He was joking, but he was a little insulted, too. To make his point, he took a step toward the bar, and I caught his hand and pulled him back to me.
“It wasn’t meant as an insult. You’re a man, not a boy, and that’s a good thing.”
“Whatever. I’d already been considering Botox. I think you just made up my mind.”
“Don’t you dare.” I tilted his chin up with two fingertips and told him, “This face is a work of art. You don’t fuck with something so beautiful.”
He frowned as he met my gaze. “You think you can tell me what to do?”
“I doubt anybody can. But maybe someone should try.”
Before he could reply, the valet joined us and said, “Pardon me, Mr. Russo. Your car is ready.”
After I thanked the kid and slipped him a twenty, Jack turned toward my ride and exclaimed, “You absolutely ancient prehistoric fossil! Of course this is what you drive!”
I grinned at that and ran my gaze down the length of the convertible as I informed him, “This gem is a 1962 Cadillac De Ville. If you say one bad thing about her, I’m driving off without you.” It really was gorgeous—about a mile long with a pristine black paint job, white wall tires, and a red leather interior.
“No, don’t do that. I’ll asphyxiate in a thick, black cloud of exhaust fumes if I’m standing here while you drive off. What does this get, a mile a gallon? Every time you turn the key in the ignition, you can probably hear polar bears weeping.”
I walked over to the car and shot him a look as I opened the passenger door. “So, are you going to stand there and rant, or are you going to get in my gas guzzling, ozone depleting relic and come home with me, so I can fuck you into oblivion?”
“The latter.” He flashed me a smile as he hurried past me and climbed into the Caddy.
As I slid behind the wheel and put the car into drive, I said, “You know what I’m looking forward to? A nice, long blow job.”
“So, it’s been a while, huh?”
“It’s been about six hours.” Why did I say that? My most recent blow job had happened months ago, not earlier this evening. But I didn’t like his assumption that I hadn’t gotten any in a long time. “The part I’m looking forward to is you not talking because your mouth is full.”
Jack burst out laughing and called me an asshole. Then he said, “Joke’s on you though, because I’m fluent in ASL. That means I can keep talking even with your cock down my throat.”
He signed something in what really did look like authentic American Sign Language, and I asked, “What did you just say?”
“I said poor, weeping polar bears.”
I chuckled at that and pointed out, “Okay, yes, this car does have a big engine. But it’s all been modernized, so it’s not as bad as all that.”