I probably should’ve said no. Definitely could’ve just let Max call me a car. But instead, because self-preservation wasn’t exactly my strongest suit, I met Marco’s gaze and decided to follow him. Another brilliant decision in my ongoing streak of questionable choices.
Marco didn’t bother holding the door open for me this time. He looked annoyed. Or maybe pissed? Hard to tell with Marco. He never got angry like normal people did. No yelling or swearing, just silent, simmering irritation. Honestly, it was exhausting. If he was going to be mad at me, the least he could do was raise his voice so I’d have a legitimate reason to argue back.
I slid into the passenger seat, crossing my legs, doing my best to look bored instead of intrigued.
“You like him?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road as if he were forcing himself not to look at me.
“Who?”
“Jonathan.”The name sounded almost as bitter as him.
I didn’t answer.
Marco’s jaw ticked. “Answer the question.”
I crossed my arms, letting my head tilt lazily toward him. “No.”
“Then why entertain it?”
“You already know why,” I said finally.
The car slowed at a red light, and he turned to face me. “You could do worse.”
I lifted a brow. “You volunteering?”
“You’re too young for me. Too immature.”
I smirked. “Immature? That’s a strong accusation,lawyer.”
He didn’t correct me this time. Didn’t snap that I should call him Marco. That was interesting.
“How old are you anyway?” I asked.
He looked at me sideways. “Too old for you.”
I eyed him. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
“Would it kill you to give me a basic answer?”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“What’s the cut-off then?” I teased. “Thirty? Twenty-five?”
“You’re twenty-two, Valentina.”
I shrugged. “And?”
His fingers flexed again. “And you act it.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is.”
“You don’t like messy things, do you?”
He didn’t correct me this time either.
