When I said nothing, she placed a hand on her hip and rifled through her bag on the dining table behind me. “Share your location. Use protection.” She threw a tiny square at me. “No emotional attachment. In that order.”
“Everly!”
Because she had just chucked a condom at me.
She shrugged and took the wine from Luca, muttering about how she was willing to key Zoltán’s car if it didn’t work out.
Relieved that was all, I made a run for it out of the villa and onto the street, only bothering to put my shoes onwhen the taxi pulled up.
The ride was short, but my toes tapped against the leather seat before me.
I’d be nervous for any date.
I’d never been on one.
Not as an adult anyway.
So, it was a good thing it was with someone who wanted one thing from me.
And wasn’t going to get it.
I wasn’t going to care how this went down, but I couldn’t shift the humming knot of anxiety in my stomach.
The bar Zoltán had sent me to was alive with sparkling lights, the tingle of jazz music, and loud chatter. It was the exact kind of place I envisioned Zoltán wooing his dates. It wasn’t far from the harbour, where I was sure he’d take them on the guise of a romantic walk, as they were naively led closer to his hotel with each step, after hydrating her with numerous over-priced cocktails.
I scrolled on my phone outside, unwilling to see the happy, flirting couples through the glass doors. It looked packed.
Secretly, I hoped Zoltán hadn’t been able to book, and we’d get turned away. If his ego was bruised, I might find him less attractive.
The roar of a bike closed my eyes and forced a deep breath to ready myself for whatever cliche Zoltán was going to be tonight.
Didn’t he know who my dad was?
Riding a motorbike wasn’t the flex he thought it was. I had a motorbike.
I was already cringing.
He stopped right in front of me, and the stereotype just kepton going. Black jeans, black top, black leather jacket. Black helmet.
I knew black and purple were his team colours, butcome on.
Next, he’d have his racing number tattooed on him.
He pulled his helmet off, and I was jolted into the memory of him in his leathers, unzipped down his stomach.
I clenched.
Had he become more attractive in the last few hours?I wasn’t sure it was possible. He was right; he was infuriatingly hot.
Ugh.
He gestured to the bike with both hands.
My brows skyrocketed. “Excuse me?”
He spoke clearly, carefully, as if he’d rehearsed the words. “Please. Motorbike.”
Unlike the way he’d spoken at the shoot.
