“Me doing shit for you?”
“No. Me affecting you to the point of youwantingto do shit for me,” she clarifies. “Call me crazy, but I don’t get the vibe you’ve ever really sacrificed or even…put in a lot of effort for a girl.”
A booming laugh echoes through me. I can’t tell if I’m flattered or offended she called me out so easily. “What gave it away?”
“You’re a Harden.”
Well, shit.
Reining in my defensiveness, I roll my eyes in hopes of hiding my actual response to her assessment. I shouldn’t care. Besides, it’s true. I am a Harden. And I’ve never had to sacrifice for a girl, or put any effort into getting laid. I’ve never cared about any of them enough to put forth an effort. But has my last name made me this way, or is it the genetics I share with my asshole of a father or is it…is it me? Am I the problem? “Well, when you putit that way,” I say. “Should we go inside so I can fuck your brains out now? Or…”
Shifting closer, she leans over the center console. Her touch is gentle, hesitant even, as she grabs my chin and urges me to look at her. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry? What does she have to be sorry for?
“You don’t need to apologize,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I do.” She hesitates, her nose scrunching in the most adorable way possible. It manages to sneak past my defensiveness and burrow under my skin. “Do you want the truth, Jagger Harden?”
I nod.
“In The Drift, everyone talks about your family like they’re the villain. The Hardens have the connections. The resources. The money. The entitlement. And even though I’m getting to know the real you, it’s still my knee-jerk reaction to lump you in with the made-up villain they’ve spouted at me since I was a little kid.”
Well, shit. Talk about speaking the truth. If I ever wanted a girl who isn’t afraid of bruising my ego, I think I’ve found her.
“To be fair, it’s not entirely made up,” I concede. “My family does have connections, and resources, and money, and entitlement.”
“And generosity, and creativity, and thoughtfulness.” She leans in and kisses me before smiling against my mouth. “And a really good cock.”
My chuckle comes out on a breath. “Glad it’s good for something.”
“Definitely good for something.” She kisses me again like she can’t help herself. “The truth is, I never grew up with a lot of food, or a variety of food in general. I know you kind of already knew that, but it’s why I don’t know if I have allergies. It’s why I don’t know if I like Thai food. It’s why I’m still as skinny as Iam. Because the idea of eating until I’m satiated means there’s a possibility there won’t be food for the next meal. It’s why high-calorie meals like peanut butter were a staple, and why I made a dig about you being a Harden, even if it was unjustified.” She takes a deep breath. “So. In the same way you’re here, painting the Harden name with a new brush, I, the poor girl from The Drift, will do the same. Take me wherever you want, Mr. Harden, but only if you promise I can have dessert.”
Grabbing her chin with my thumb and the knuckle of my forefinger, I press my mouth against hers, kissing her once more. Now that she’s opened the door, I have no problem using it to my advantage as often as possible. The feel of her full lips is enough to make my blood run south, but I force myself to lean back. If I don’t, we’ll never make it to dinner, and the entire date portion of the evening will go up in flames. “Dessert, huh?” I peck her one more time. “I can make it happen on one condition.”
“Oh?”
“You promise to let me have dessert, too.”
A grin plays at the edge of her lips. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Good girl.” I let her go and grip the back of her headrest with one hand while shifting to look over my shoulder as I back out of the parking spot.
When we arrive at the restaurant a little while later, Violet doesn’t bother opening her menu. Instead, she tells me to order for her, promising she’ll go in with an open mind. I ask for a variety of everything, and by the time she’s tasted each dish, she’s leaning back in her chair, and rubbing her stomach like she’s six months pregnant.
“Okay, so that was delicious,” she says.
“What was your favorite?”
Scanning the barely-touched plates, she tilts her head. “Definitely the Pad Thai, Tom Yum soup, and the…red curry, for sure.”
I make a mental note and lean forward, pushing aside a few of the plates as the waitress approaches.
“Will there be anything else?” the waitress asks.
I quirk my brow at Violet, but she waves me off. “I’m good.”
“What about dessert?” I prod.
