“Oh no,” she groans. “Bass, I’m not a fucking street racer.”
I straighten in my seat. “Well, you’re fucking a street racer, and he put a lot of work into these horsepower’s, so humor him.”
Rolling her eyes, she starts checking her seatbelt. “This is dangerous.”
I give mine a firm yank too, grinning. “Yep.”
“You look way too excited about this,” she says, eyeing me disapprovingly. “If you make me hurt my newly very pretty car, I’m going to break my foot off in your ass.”
I wave a hand. “Don’t worry, the road is nice and straight. I bring Jasmine here all the time.” I very purposefully do not tell her this is the road Vandy and Reyn had their accident on. In my defense, how many deer are crossing this road in the daytime, anyway? “Okay, get ready.”
Truthfully, I am excited, but not quite for the reason she’s thinking. Sure, barreling down a road in a roar of exhaust will always be a good time, but mostly I just want to see her feel it. The adrenaline. The grip. The feeling of absolute control in a moment of chaos.
I coach her through the right way to safely come up to speed. It’s not quite as easy as just pushing the throttle. She listens intently, eyes tracking where I point, and she doesn’t even look nervous about it.
She kind of looks excited too, actually.
When she finally gets going, both hands planted on the wheel until I direct her to shift up, an edge of a smile finally starts to break free. When she gets it up to sixty, it grows, back pressed against the seat as the scenery rushes by us. At seventy-five, I start really appreciating what I’ve done. It’s a fucking growler of an engine, but almost as smooth as Jasmine, who I’ve easily put four times the work and money into.
At eighty, her breath starts coming in a little shallower, anxiety warring with that flash of thrill in her eyes.
“Holy shit,” she says when it reaches ninety. It’s almost too quiet to hear it over the engine, and I wish the road were longer so I could really get into the way she looks right now, mouth parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide.
Lucky me, it’s still there when she begins shifting down, the RPMs rapidly decreasing until she brings it to a smooth stop. She’s breathing heavy, chest rising and falling. When she turns to me, the exhilarated smile on her face makes my heart hammer faster than going ninety-five just had.
I exhale, “Goddamn, I’m in love with you.”
Her breath stutters for a moment, right before she meets me over the console in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. I grasp at the back of her head, grunting at the way she fists a hand in my shirt, dragging me closer.
It?
??s sloppy and frantic and completely artless.
But it’s ours.
Sugar still looks anxious when we finally arrive at my house, but the drive and ensuing make-out session seems to have leeched some of her nerves. Liesel meets us in the foyer, taking our jackets and directing me to the drawing room.
Mom’s obviously been waiting for us. She entertains more often than she’d probably like, but she’s never been super happy about it. Memories rush back to me of her doing the bare minimum as my dad followed behind her, happily lavishing everything up. It makes me feel a little guilty when we enter and I realize she’s gone all out—tea, scones, doilies, and all.
She stands upon seeing us, instantly coming over. “Sebastian! Twice in one weekend. You’re going to spoil me. Thankfully, you’re not bloody this time.” She presses a kiss to my cheek before leveling me with an exasperated look. “Who are you, Bono? Take those sunglasses off in the house.” I reach up to remove them and she pauses, frowning at my shiner. “Never mind, put them back on.”
Sugar snorts a laugh, drawing our attention.
“Mom,” I say, reaching out to rest a hand on the small of Sugar’s back. “This is Sugar Voss. My girlfriend.” I have this split moment of vision-blurring panic, because is she? Yeah, we fucked and slept together, and maybe there were some declarations, but none of those had been—
Sugar gives my mom a small smile, greeting, “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilcox.”
Mom presses her fingers to her mouth, a grin peeking out from between them. She shoots me a glance that says just how precious she thinks this all is. “Sugar, the pleasure is entirely mine.” She extends a hand and I panic again, because I hadn’t thought to tell her about the whole touch thing.
Sugar looks down at her hand, and after a beat that’s barely even awkward, reaches out to take it. “Thanks for… having me.”
Mom leads us over to the sitting area, letting us take the couch side by side. “I’ve heard so much about you! I have one of your pieces, you know.”
Sugar looks briefly confused before she remembers. “Right, Abby. He said he wanted it for you.”
“It’s gorgeous!” Mom pours us each a cup of tea—gross—and nods to the scones. “I’m told you had a bit of a show yesterday. That must have been so exciting.”
I pretend to drink the gross-ass tea as I watch them talk. Sugar still looks a little awkward, but her smiles come easy, especially when the talk comes around to Abby and her kittens.