“You need to have a Christmas-themed car,” I told Owen. “We can put a ton of lights and Christmas decals all over it.”
“Please don't put any stickers on my car,” Owen said in alarm.
I laughed. “Which one is yours?”
He looked slightly guilty. “All of them.”
“Geez,” I said, turning around in a circle. There were a lot of cars. There were even a few that looked like antique racing cars.
“And I thought I had a problem with all my Christmas decor hoarding.”
“I don't have a problem,” Owen said. “I can quit anytime.”
“Sure you can,” I drawled.
He led me to a Bugatti Veyron. I ran my hands over the sleek sports car. Owen batted my hands away and polished away my fingerprints with a handkerchief.
“Can I drive it?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
“Can you even drive one of these?” he asked.
“I have a commercial trucking license,” I bragged. “Needed it for a catering gig that went so, so badly. Until you've driven an eighteen-wheeler that was improperly loaded,thanks Steve, while it's pouring rain and your coworker's chinchilla is having an existential crisis in the seat next to you, then you don't know how to drive, my friend.”
“I'm skeptical.”
I made a “gimme” gesture with my hand. He sighed and held out the keys.
“Do not scratch it!” Owen warned.
I grabbed for the keys, but he jerked them away.
“If you scratch it, I'll—” he searched for an appropriate thing to say that didn't sound crazy.
“If I scratch it, I'll let you not only come down my chimney but all over my face any time you like!” I promised.
“Okay, maybe you can scratch the car a little bit, then,” he said with a slight smile.
I laughed and took the keys then practically melted in the luxurious seat.
“Yum. I would ask if you ever had sex in this car, but it's actually not as roomy as you would think.”
“I have not,” Owen said tensely.
I started the car. It purred. “Better than a vibrator.”
I pulled out of the parking space then slammed on the brake and made a car crunch noise with my mouth. Owen cursed and gripped the armrest. I laughed.
“Relax, I'm just messing with you,” I said, pulling out of the garage.
62
Owen
Holly wasn't a bad driver necessarily; she was aggressive, though. Whereas I like to keep several car lengths between me and the next car, Holly was right up on the bumper of the car in front of us.
