“Well, thank God for that. I always say the Vey-whatever was a piece of shit.”
He snorts.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say, in genuine awe. “A work of art.”
“It is.” He assesses his baby for a long beat. “If I didn’t already have a hard-on because of you, Georgie, I’d have a hard-on looking at this car. I’ve got a thing for fast cars.”
“And fast women,” I say, like we’re in a poorly written action movie.Because, come on, who could resist inserting that cheeseball line into this surreal moment, in front ofthiscar?
Luckily, Reed gets my offbeat humor, apparently, because he laughs at my stupid joke as he leads me around to the passenger side. But just when I think he’s going to open the door for me, he slides his palm onto my cheek, pins me against his gorgeous car, presses his hard-on into my clit, and kisses me deeply—this time, with even more heat and greed than the last time. And, once again, I’m instantly ravenous for him. My heart exploding, I slide my arms around his neck and grip his hair and kiss him the same way I’m going to fuck him at his house: without holding back.
“You drive me crazy,” Reed whispers into my lips. “I can’t resist you.”
“Please don’t.”
His burning eyes scan my face for a long, heated, delicious beat. “Damn, you’re gorgeous, Georgie.”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “Damn, you’re... mildly attractive, Reed.”
He laughs—and so do I. Because, as we both know, Reed Rivers is drop dead gorgeous. His features aren’t objectively perfect, by any stretch, in terms of symmetry. But the way they come together, the way his face is animated by his intelligence and wit and charm andconfidence...the overall package of him is like catnip to this particular kitty. And I’ve got to think any other kitty who happens to cross his swaggering, strutting path.
After one more kiss, Reed opens the passenger door for me, gets me situated in the luxurious leather seat, and shuts me in with a soft click. And the minute I’m alone in Reed’s car, as Reed makes his way around the back to his door, I quickly google the car name he mentioned... and then gasp at the crazy words on my screen:Bugatti Chiron. One of the fastest cars ever manufactured. Approximately 45 units sold worldwide per year. Price tag: $2.9 million.
Holy crap! I’m sitting in a car worth three million bucks? I suddenly feel faint.
I swear I’m not going home with Reed because of his money. But, holy crap, it’s not every day a girl sits inside a three-million-dollar machine. For God’s sake, I’ve never been inside a three-million-dollarhouse,let alone a three-million-dollarcar.Suddenly, I feel nervous to move a muscle inside this car. To breathe. What if I spontaneously combust—or barf or pee? The driver’s side door opens and Reed slides into his seat. “Have you been dutifully scouring the girl’s page to find a video for me, Music Scout?”
“Uh. No. But I will.” I flip back to Instagram, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Here. Plug in,” Reed says, holding up a cord. “We’ll listen to her through my speakers.”
My hands shaking, I plug my phone into Reed’s offered cord.
“You okay?” Reed asks.
I wipe the flop-sweat off my forehead. “Yeah, I’m great.”
But I’m a liar. I’m not “great.” I’m feeling a bit sick, actually. Being in this car has made me realize just how successful Reed is. How big a deal it is that I’ve not only got his undivided attention, but we’reorganicallytalking about discovering new music, thanks to Bryce. What if I blow this chance for Alessandra? I can’t do that. Not even for one night of the best sex in my life.
Reed starts his car, and its expensive engine purrs like a kitten. “Listen to that,” he says lovingly. “Beautiful.”
“Yeah, beautiful. At least, I think so. Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I grew up driving my dad’s 2004 Volvo, and I haven’t needed a car of my own since I’ve been in school.”
Reed chuckles. “I feel you. In college, I drove a ‘95 Honda Accord with a transmission that slipped and a passenger window that wouldn’t roll down.”
I chuckle, and he does, too. And, just like that, something passes between us. Something real. And sweet, believe it or not. Something that makes both of us smile like school kids with mutual crushes on a playground.
“Okay, cue something up already, Music Scout,” Reed barks playfully, backing his glorious car out of its parking spot. “I’ve wasted enough time on this girl. I’ll give her one more minute of my precious time, and then I’m going to focus on nothing butyouuntil I have to drag my sorry ass to the airport.”
“Okay, I’m looking... ” I look up from my phone. “Actually, can I aska quick question? What did you mean when you said ‘extenuating circumstances’?”
We’re headed down a ramp toward the garage exit now, but Reed glances away from the windshield to look at me quizzically. Clearly, he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“You said her Instagram followers aren’t impressive, but there might be ‘extenuating circumstances’ to give her more of a future platform than the average bear?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He turns out of the garage and we take off smoothly into the night. “This is what I mean about Bryce’s football-star status coming into play. Assuming Bryce doesn’t get injured this coming season, he’ll almost certainly get drafted pretty high, and then quite possibly play in the NFL. Which means there’s potential for him to have a huge, national platform in coming years, if he doesn’t fuck it up. And you know who he’ll almost certainly feature on his social media? His baby sister, the wannabe pop star. So, even if his sister’s numbers aren’t all that great now, she’s got huge growth potential. Plus, she’s young. Even putting her brother aside, I always keep in mind the young ones almost always need time to grow and develop.”
I sigh with relief. Alessandra’s nineteen. Would Reed consider Alessandra the kind of “young” artist he’d give a chance to grow and develop? “Interesting,” I manage to say, even though my heart is crashing. “So, let’s say a singer-songwriter has, I don’t know, a thousand followers, and they’re, say, nineteen... Then it’s not totally impossible for you to want to sign them?”
