“Mr. B hasn’t had a license to drive since the nineties. His sister takes him everywhere,” Ashton says matter-of-factly as he makes his way to the driver’s side of his BMW.
I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “Fine,” I grunt, stomping toward Ashton’s waiting car. I snatch my bag from the ground, climb into the passenger seat, and slam the door shut.
He wants to drive me so badly? Whatever. He can drive me, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make the next few hours a living hell for him.
11
ASHTON
We spendthe first twenty minutes of the ride to Baybridge in complete, stone-cold silence. I purposely don’t put music on in the hopes that Allie will ask me to, but that would require her to speak to me, which she is hell-bent on not doing. Around the twenty-five minute mark, I start humming, and the look she directs at me has my blood running cold and my cock hardening. Only Alexandra Montgomery can make me terrified and horny at the same time.
On the plus side, the anger I felt for Allie when I first noticed her sitting in that conference room a couple of weeks ago has slowly started to dissipate. Don’t get me wrong, she still drives me crazy, and I still get some sort of sick pleasure out of messing with her.
When she didn’t answer my texts last night, regret crawled up my spine and made a home for itself in my head. The way I treated her in my office yesterday was unacceptable. She had no way of knowing about Burger Week, and insinuating she was dumb or didn’t care about her job was messed up. It’s something Declan would do, and I would yell at him for it. I saw it in Skylar’s eyes when she looked at me like she didn’t even knowwho I was. Like I was becoming him. I still don’t know what the hell went on between those two, but I know enough to know she’s protecting my friendship with him by not telling me.
Either way, the guilt ate at me, and Allie ignoring my texts only made it worse. I was calling her to apologize when I realized she was stranded and needed a ride. I started in her direction the second she mentioned it. I thought it would give me the perfect opportunity to set some things straight, but she won’t even look at me. Her glare at my humming is the only exception. I finally relent and turn on one of my go-to playlists. The steady rhythm of a country song comes pouring through the speakers, causing Allie to scoff.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“You drive around with no music for half an hour like a complete psycho, and then when you finally turn it on, this is what you choose?”
“I take it you don’t like country music?” I ask, tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel.
“It’s…whatever. I’m surprised you do, though.”
“I listen to pretty much everything. There’s not a genre I won’t at least try. What about you?”
She sits up and adjusts her glasses. Her eyes are so blue, they look like two crystal pools waiting for someone to dive into them. “What about me?”
“What kind of music do you like?”
“Nothing you would know,” she turns her head to look out the window. It takes everything in me not to lash out again. I’m trying here, but she makes everything so goddamn hard. Pun very much intended.
“You’re telling me there’s an entire genre of music out there that I’ve never heard of?” I ask excitedly. “Is it something kinky? Like erotic string quartets or some shit?”
Her lips turn up for half a second. I would have missed it if I weren’t so hyper-aware of her, but we hit some traffic a fewmiles back, which gave me the perfect opportunity to stare. I almost—almost—got a smile out of her.
“Punk rock,” she says, her lips back to that thin line she favors so much.
“Hmm…never heard of it.” She rolls her eyes predictably and grabs my phone from the console where it’s charging, putting it up to my face so it unlocks and tapping the screen a few times until my car fills with the sounds of fast drumming and distorted electric guitars.
I start bobbing my head automatically, and I see a hint of that non-smile ghosting her lips again. “This is good,” I say loudly, my voice carrying over the music. “Who is it?”
“Noble Rot. They're a newish band out of San Francisco. I usually listen to the classics, you know, The Ramones, Rancid, Bad Religion, but these guys are really good. Obviously, they got their inspiration from the right place, you know?”
Her voice buzzes with an excitement I’ve never heard from her before. A quick glance in her direction confirms that she’s also nodding her head in time with the music, her hips gently swaying back and forth as she mouths the lyrics. It’s like she’s in her own little world right now—like the music is lighting her up from the inside out.
“So, how did you get into punk rock?” I ask her, and just as fast as it appeared, the light in her eyes dims, and she grabs my phone again.
“Sometimes people just like music. Doesn’t mean there’s a whole-ass story,” she mutters as she switches back to my playlist. “We can go back to your country shit. Wouldn’t want to miss any whiny cowboys crying into their whiskey about how their girls left them.”
To say Allie is a tough nut to crack would be a gross understatement. I wouldn’t even quantify this as half a step forward, and yet she just took a hundred steps back. I remain silent for the rest of the ride, and when we pull up to the valet at theBaybridge Inn, Allie scoffs. “Of course, you would do valet. God forbid you have to walk a few extra steps in your rich-boy shoes.”
“Interesting that you should comment on my shoes, considering yours have red soles,” I sling back.
That earns me a glare as I glance down at said shoes. Who the fuck wears Louboutins in the middle of winter after an ice storm? As I stop the car and put my keys in the cup holder, one of the valets comes around and opens Allie’s door. She brushes past him and mumbles a ‘thank you,’ not even waiting for me to get out. I tip the valet, get my ticket, and then I’m hot on her heels as she walks toward the restaurant entrance.
She stops dead in her tracks when she hears my footfalls behind her. “What the hell are you doing?”
