“I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t. I’ll go to a couple of my favorite thrift shops tomorrow. I’ll find something nice.”
He gives me a look with one arched brow.
“I’ll even find a green one.”
“We’ll see,” he says, reaching for my hand. “In the meantime, we’ll do valet, so you won’t be out in the elements. I won’t have you getting chilled.”
I should roll my eyes. I really should. They’re right there, but he’s too damn sweet. I just can’t. “Fine,” I say with a fake huff. “Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What if it’s something I don’t like?” Ha! That’s a laugh. I like everything. Except liver. And a couple other things, but that’s it.
“Oh.” He stops in his tracks. “I should have asked. Do you like Italian food?”
“Yes.”
“Mexican?”
“Of course.”
“I know you like Thai. What about Indian?”
“I’ve never had Indian food.”
He doesn’t say a word, but he does smile down at me. “You’ll have to wait and see. Wherever we go, there will be something you’ll like. I promise.” He tugs on my hand, leading me to the door.
“I like you,” I say without thinking it through.
He stops suddenly, turning back to face me. “And I like you. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Why won’t I ever know?”
He chuckles. “Oh, you’ll know. Maybe later, after we get home.”
I snicker. “Pervert.”
A laugh escapes him that’s so loud, it echoes throughout his place. “I think I am kind of a pervert, for you.”
“Ah, how sweet.”
Billy takes my hand in his and pauses at the fingerprint scanner outside his door. “Here. Let’s do this right now before I forget.” He presses some buttons then lifts my hand until my thumb is directly over the scanner. When it beeps, he releases my hand while he taps on the buttons a few more times. “There. You’re all set up. Why don’t you give it a try?”
We practice several times, each time the door unlatches for me. “That’s so cool. Full disclosure. I’m always losing keys.”
“Since you can’t lose your thumb…”
“Well, you can, but not like you can your keys,” I say with a laugh. I take his hand in mine this time and walk to the elevator. It’s funny how well our hands fit together. His hands are big, and mine are extra small, but for some reason, we fit perfectly.
In the garage, I head straight to the car that we drove back from my parents’ house, but he tugs me to the Range Rover I drooled over yesterday. “No way. This is your car too?”
“It is. This one is my baby.”
Baby? Why am I suddenly jealous of a car? “I can see that. The color is beautiful.”
“It is,” he says, running his hand over the deep red exterior.
