His patients are lucky—those are the kind of hands you'd want on your body, even when it hurts. Even if it hurts. Ehm.
And I guess I'm staring, because he glances over, one brow arched in a silent question.
I snap my head the other way, run a finger over the polished doorframe and pretend I'm fascinated by it. Like that doesn't give me away.
"So," I say, voice too bright. "How much do doctors make?"
Ben shifts gears and takes over two cars ahead. "Not enough to afford this beauty."
"I can believe that, but still, how much?"
He quirks a bemused smirk my way.
"What?" I demand. "You wanted us to be friends again. That's what friends do. Ask nosy questions. And you were always frugal."
"Frugal? Not at all," he retorts smoothly, smiling. "Strategic. Runs through generations. I'm sure my kids will inherit it too."
Kids. That word lands in the car and stops everything,including my breathing.
I almost ask—do you want them? With her? How you once, sort of, maybe, wanted them with me? Mad as if was since we never even slept together.
But it's a ridiculous thought because he's married and I'm sure he'll want them at some point, so I suck in air and don't go there. Not under this perfectly blue sky.
He squints at me, reading the storm behind my eyes, and says, "You think too much."
I swallow the eye roll with a sigh and pivot. "It's a rare Maserati, so I don't expect it to cost anything less than half a mil. At least tell me how you got it?"
"Investments," he says, deliberately vague.
"Investments?" I give him an unimpressed look. Jab his shoulder. "You sound like someone who hides cash in floorboards."
He just shrugs his lips, humming along to the summer banger.
"Seriously?" I press. "You're not going to tell me how you became a multi-millionaire?"
His grin is infuriating. "Don't think so. Like I said, you think too much. Enjoy the ride and smile. The day's beautiful."
I narrow my eyes. I hate when he does that—leaves me dangling like bait on a hook.
My brain starts clawing through every clue from the past, anything he told me, until it lands on one particular memory.
"Wait. Don't tell me." I turn to him slowly, eyes wide, like I've uncovered his darkest secret, and he makes a face, alreadyexpecting something absurd. "Did you become a crypto bro?"
He snorts amusedly, fingers drumming the wheel. "Funny, but no. Not a crypto bro. Not a mobster. Just learned how to turn a few lucky bets into advantages."
"Learned about lucky bets?" I pull a face. "That's the most Ben Bellini thing I've ever heard. You always knew how to bend the odds."
He shoots me a smirk. "What can I say? The universe likes me."
Who doesn't...
"And I don't have a problem waiting for what I want," he adds.
Okay, either I'm crazy, or he's flirting. I'm not sure, though, since it's not that long ago he told me his wife would love to decorate their house the same way.
Ben stomps the gas and the engine growls straight into my spine as we shoot forward.
I dig my fingers into the seat. "You drive like the road's built for you."
