“Yep. Via Grayson Spaulding.”
Ah, that made more sense. He’d texted me last week that he’d be in touch soon about doing that interview.
My dad had announced his candidacy shortly after the wedding. And, true to his word, Grayson Spaulding had somehow made Bribury a no-fly zone for reporters.
But soon I’d be asked to make an appearance and say how great my daddy was and how I thought he’d make a super governor of Maryland.
Apparently the Corvette was a sweetener.
“But why a Corvette?” I thought aloud. “Why not a cute little Audi, or a Porsche or something?”
“Had to be an American-made car, is what he told me.”
Right. For appearances. I couldn’t be driving a German or Japanese car up to campaign rallies, now could I?
“And you picked it out?”
Stick nodded, a rare flash of…pride? shining on his face.
“Andthisis what you thought I’d want to drive?” The flash of pleasure disappeared from his face, and for just a second I felt kind of shitty for making that happen. But then I remembered this was Stick—just some low-level car thief.
“Whatever. Trade it for something else. The dealer’s information is in the glove box. It’s registered for Lot H, you know where that is?”
I nodded. It was the freshman parking lot about a quarter of a mile from our dorm.
“Then my work here is done. Keep it. Don’t keep it. Whatever. You can work that out with your father, or Spaulding, or whoever.”
He started to walk to his car, opening the passenger door to get in.
“Wait,” I said as I peeked into the Corvette.
“What?” he said, totally impatient.
I turned to face him. “I can’t drive a stick shift.”
A look of pure exasperation crossed his face. “Are you shitting me?”
“Ah, that would be a no, I’m not shitting you. I can’t drive a stick. So why don’t you go park it in Lot H for me and then bring me back the keys and I’ll get Grayson on the phone to take care of it?”
He walked back to me, snatched the keys out of my hand. “That’s how it’s always been for you, hasn’t it? Make a call and have someone else take care of it.”
He wasn’t really saying this to me, it was mumbled under his breath, and I suspected it was directed at everyone whom Stick perceived as a “have” to his “have not,” but it still pissed me off.
“That’s not at all how it’s been for me. You may think you know all about me—and you might know more than most from your new BFF Grayson Spaulding—but you don’t knowshitabout me.” I took the keys back from him. “Go on, get out of here. I’ll figure it out and get the damn thing to the parking lot myself.”
“You can’t just figure it out. You’ll strip the gears, or kill—”
“I said I’d figure something out. I’m sure some guy on my floor can drive it there for me.”
“And I just know how you’ll repay him, too.” He stepped closer to me, staring me down.
My eyes narrowed on his, but I managed a tiny, sexy smile. “Yes, I’ll make sure it’s worth his time…and effort,” I said in a breathy voice that I wasn’t even aware I had in my repertoire.
He placed a hand on my shoulder and slowly slid it down my arm, brushing the back of my hand, then tightened his hold on my wrist and turned it upward. He took the keys back. “Do you have any more classes today?” he asked softly, still staring at me. I shook my head. “Anywhere you’re supposed to be in the next few hours?” he asked. Another shake from me.
He sighed, then looked to the sky, raking a hand through his messy hair. No warm beanie for Mr. Hardass. “Christ,” he whispered under his breath as he turned away from me.
He walked to his car and opened the passenger door. “I’ll call you if I need you. Be available,” he said to the guy behind the wheel, who nodded his understanding. He then reached into the front seat and grabbed a small white paper sack, which he shoved into his jacket pocket. Stick shut the door, and the red muscle car drove away.
