I pull my keys from my pocket, hit the fob, and walk to the passenger side.
“Wow, nice ride.”
“Thanks.” I pull open the door and motion for her to hop in.
She complies, dropping into the black leather seat. I catch her running her hands along the fabric and mouthing the word wow as I shut the door.
I head to the driver’s side, pulling out my phone before folding inside. Before I get the car started, I’m instantly caught by two things: her delicate female scent filling the small space and her not-so-feminine snort-giggle doing the same.
Strapped into the seat, she’s turned toward me, laughing.
I look around the space then back to her. “You find something funny?” Maybe she’s drunker than I thought.
“From the outside, I didn’t think you’d fit in this. What kind of car is this?”
“Maserati.” I shift in my seat, figuring out pretty quickly what she’s referring to. “You saying I’m too big for my car?”
“No, I mean it’s a hot car and you’re like, you know . . .” She holds her hands out and shrugs as if it’s an obvious connection. “It’s a great match, but aren’t you a little cramped in here?”
I never really thought about it. Being six-foot-five, I’m cramped everywhere. But now that she mentions it . . . “Yeah, a little. But like you said, it’s a hot car.”
She nods and her laughter dies. “It’s like these jeans. They might cut off all circulation to my brain and squeeze my ass so tight that it goes numb.” She grins and makes a sweeping motion down her body with her hand. “But they’re hot.”
“Can’t argue that.” I fire up the engine and move the car through the lot to the main road, ignoring the sudden swelling between my legs at the mention of her jeans. “Where to?”
“Oh, take a left here.” She settles back in her seat. “So president of the UFL. What’s that like?”
“Headache, but it’s gettin’ easier.”
“What did you do before you took over for that asshole Gibbs?”
“Fight promotions.” I suck at the tell-me-about-your-life conversations. I have no desire to shed my skin and bare my soul, but a non-answer would make me a dick, and for one very particular and very naked reason, I want this girl to like me.
“I wouldn’t have thought that.” She gazes at the lights passing by her window. “I would’ve thought you were a fighter.”
A suffocating weight settles in the small space between us. It’s a painful subject, but it’s only painful for me. “I was once.”
A tiny gasp and she turns toward me with her whole body. “I knew it! Did you fight for—oh, crap, turn here.” She points and I make the turn. “Did you fight for the UFL too?”
“Yeah, but that was a long time ago.”
“Psht. How long ago? You can’t be that old.”
Halted at a stoplight, I turn to her. “Fourteen years.”
Her eyes go wide on me. “Really. How old are you?”
I’m not ashamed of my age, but something about her surprise makes me think I should be. “Thirty-eight.”
“Damn.” She whistles and tugs her tight top down over a sliver of exposed skin. “You’re a lot older than I am.”
Somehow I never stopped to think about how old she is. I mean she’s in a bar, so at least she’s legal. “A lot as in . . .?”
“What, me? Oh I’m uh . . . twenty-four.”
Fuck. She’s closer to Ryder’s age than mine. Reality hits me like a bucket of ice water on my nuts. What the fuck am I thinking?
This is what happens when I let myself go and forget that I don’t have the luxury of floating the way the wind blows. My gaze darts to the small notebook that sits in the center console. That’s where I need to stay: regimented, scheduled, and focused.
When I let loose, I end up having dirty thoughts about a twenty-four-year-old girl who is also now in my car. In my defense, she looks much more mature in all the right places.
“Take the second right and my house is on the left.” She points her directions. “I bet you were a heavyweight, huh?”
I nod, grateful for the subject change, but not interested in continuing this share-fest. Especially when I know where it might lead.
“There it is.” She points to a small duplex on the corner. It’s modest, and we seem to be in a decent part of town, but I can see right away that a few of her windows are open. Not that it’s my business to care.
The click of her seatbelt rings in my ears, signaling it’s time to part. I pull into the driveway but don’t get out.
She fidgets with her keys. “I appreciate the ride.”
“No problem.”
“And um, thanks for all that stuff about leaving my drink.”
I shake my head. “Hold up. Did you just say thank you? Did I hear that right?”
She grins and tilts her head. “Yes. You were right.” Her big eyes meet mine and she leans in. “Thank you.”