She put the jug down next to Nate’s beer.
“I’m writing my second book. Just about to finish it.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “It’s romance.”
I lifted my brows. “Romance?”
She nodded, looking braver. “Romance and yes, it’s steamy. It isn’t closed door.”
I frowned at her use of ‘closed door’. “What does that mean?”
“I have sex scenes in it. There’s description and, you know, people getting their freak on.”
I could tell she was trying not to be embarrassed.
“Cool. I take it not many people know? You said this is your second?” Little girl had been busy.
“Second. I’m self-publishing, so the first has been out a few weeks. It’s done okay. And no, I’m not really telling anyone.”
“We all have our secrets.” Wasn’t that the truth. “How about I pay you thirty grand for six months. Lifts to training and from training, match stuff, and anything to do with my job. Other non-work stuff by negotiation.” Because there was some stuff I didn’t want her driving me to.
I saw her swallow. “Thirty. That’s a lot. Yes.”
“Good girl.”
I saw her shoulders relax and something in her eyes responded to the praise.
My cock twitched.
“I’m a good driver. But do you want to be driven around in my car?”
That would be a no. She had a VW Golf, which was best described as ‘cute’. There was no way I wanted anyone driving me around in one of my cars, which meant there was one solution.
“Send me a list of five cars you like that you think I might like. Tomorrow, we’ll go car shopping.”
Her mouth gaped open. “And just like that, you’re buying a car?”
“And just like that, I’m buying a car. No Fords, Nissans, VWs or anything like that. Think Maserati. Or Porsche. BMW if you must. No Fiat 500s.” I frowned at the thought of being in one of those; my knees would end up around my ears.
“Aren’t Maseratis really expensive?”
I nodded. “You okay with driving something like that?” My theory here was that I’d be better being driven in a car that wasn’t one I was used to driving. “You can keep it afterwards. Call it a bonus.”
Her chin tipped up. “Of course I’ll be okay with driving it.”
I frowned. “How many points do you have on your licence?”
“None.”
“How old were you when you passed your test?”
“Nineteen.”
I’d been seventeen and one day. I’d wanted to take my test on my seventeenth birthday, but I couldn’t schedule one for that day.
“How come it took so long?”
“I failed three times. But I’m a good driver. No points. No accidents. I can even parallel park.”
She said it in the same way I told people I had an FA Cup winner’s medal.
