The Trouble With Love: An Age Gap Romance (The Forbidden Love 1)

Amelia: Lame? And what makes you think I’ve been wallowing in self-pity?

Me: Because Miss Chatterbox is quiet.

Amelia: Maybe it’s because I have nothing to say. I said thank you for rescuing me, and all I got was read. Not even an infuriating thumbs up.

Me: Some people have work to do, just so you know.

Amelia: Sure… work or fucking your assistant. I guess, either way, you’re doing the job, right?

Me: Someone is a little hung up with my sex life, one would think.

Amelia: You wish. I’ve got better things to worry about than where your dick has been.

Me: So crass coming from a refined young lady my mother makes you out to be. It’s best you go back to the wallowing.

Amelia: You know what, Mr. Smartass. I’m going to prove you wrong.

Me: Uh-huh… I’m waiting.

Amelia: Meet me in front of your apartment building next Saturday at 9 a.m.

Me: It sounds so exciting. I have work to do.

Amelia: Either meet me or don’t. But if you do, be prepared because you will be proven wrong, and I am going to gloat at my accomplishment.

Me: I’ll be there, just to watch you fail.

Amelia: Sweet dreams, playboy.

With a smile on my face, I reread her last line. I have no idea what she has planned, and knowing her, it’ll probably be something she thinks is fun but uneventful and mind-numbing.

Yet, a part of me can’t hold back the sheer pleasure in teasing her. An easy target, that’s all. And perhaps I want to prove Lex wrong and test my capabilities of how far I can push the limits with his so-called responsible daughter.

Someone has to do it, and frankly, I can’t think of any better person than me.

Fifteen

Will

“I’m not getting into that.”

A pink Mustang convertible is parked in front of my apartment building. If you ignore the hideous shade, the car itself appears to be in mint condition. Who in God’s name would do such a thing to a car?

Amelia is sitting in the driver’s side, wearing a baseball cap, navy hoody, and not to mention a satisfied smile on her face.

“It’s just a car. Get in.”

“It’s pink,” I point out, my hand resting on the door. “Like really pink.”

“You shouldn’t discriminate based on color,” she informs me. “It’s very unbecoming of you.”

“How about we take my car?” I plead.

“Man the fuck up and get in.”

I open the door with much reluctance and take a seat, not hiding my dissatisfaction of sitting inside a girl’s car. On closer inspection, the interior is pristine with white leather trim and all accessories in original condition. Whoever this belonged to must love old-time cars, though it seems a bit too feminine for Amelia’s tastes.

“Is this yours?”