“I kept her running for you but she could use another spin,” Broadway says, eyeing my Corvette.
“You’re driving.” I hurl the keys at him, yanking the passenger door open. “I’ve spent twelve hours behind the wheel, and I’m doing the same tomorrow.”
He runs a gentle hand down the hood, concealing the smile trying to break out across his face. “Would be ten in this.”
That it would.
The Pontiac, as good as it is, isn’t fast. While my Corvette wouldn’t look out of place among the other expensive playthings at Lakeside, it’d be too easy for Vaughn to run the plates and connect Carter Beckett—my mother’s maiden name—to Carter Willard, son of Rhett Willard.
I don’t need that kind of trouble. Hailey’s a piece of work without adding her overachieving father into the mix.
Broadway fills me in on what I’ve missed—thankfully not much—over the past month the whole drive toDelta. His cunning smile doesn’t slip my attention, but I don’t ask.
He’ll vomit whatever’s littering his mind when he sees fit.
And he does once he parks in the underground lot.
“Koby told us you got new ink.”
“Did he now?”
How unsurprising.
I exit the car, whipping myself left and right to ease the tension in my lower back. “Are you braver than him?”
“Braver?” he repeats, eyebrows drawing in.
“He didn’t have the balls to askwhy.”
Broadway smirks, calling the elevator. “Thewhyis obvious. You don’t tattoo a girl’s blood on your chest for shits and giggles. You’re done, Boss. Hearts and kisses. In too deep for comfort.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer.
We enter the elevator, Broadway with that shits-and-giggles attitude, his mouth threatening to split at the corners.
“Interesting kink, I admit,” he continues. “I might have to try it one day. See what the fuss is about.”
“Try what?”
“Blood play.”
“You think I cut her?” The idea alone makes me shudder. “It’s not that kind of blood, Broadway.”
It takes a second before his gag-reflex comes into effect, making me chuckle.
“Not period blood, either.”
“Oh,” he mutters, wondering what it could be, his mouth permanently fixed in that smallo.
Any second now...
“Shit!” His brows hit his hairline.
There it is.
“You mean—”
“Yes,” I cut in. “Now swallow whatever else you want to say.”
