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“There’s the auction fundraiser tomorrow night. I’ll go to that. Try to further the cause.”
“Not going to try to force me along?” he asks.
“It’ll be boring as hell.”
“Last night wasn’t.”
I glance sharply at him. Rhett’s mouth twists and he finally breaks his fixed gaze with the road to meet mine. His blue eyes twinkle with mirth.
“Beyond all reason, it was actually kind of fun,” he says.
“Which part?” The words burst out of me before I can contain them. I can’t help it. I’m a direct person; I have to get to the point, especially when said point is hanging over the both of us like a one-ton piano.
“All of it,” he says judiciously. “I particularly liked coming to your rescue.”
“I had it under control,” I lie.
He grins at me, my bullshit acknowledged.
“So what did you promise Marie?” he asks.
“What did last night mean for the two of us?”
Thankfully Rhett doesn’t question the about-face. And he doesn’t hesitate. “Last night was great,” he says. “I had a good time. I hope you did too.”
“I did,” I say.
Silence.
“But it was a bad idea,” I say finally.
“All my ideas are bad ideas,” Rhett cracks. “At least, according to my mother’s business advisers.”
I pull a face. “Maybe let’s not mention your mother for a bit. It’s a little—”
“Creepy? Over-bearing? Trust me. There’s a reason why I don’t bring women home to meet her. She makes her disappointment clear.”
I can only imagine. “Well if they’re your usual type, I’m not surprised,” I tease.
“And what, pray tell, is my usual type?” he asks as we turn onto the highway going north.
I don’t question the direction, but I’m a bit surprised the dealership isn’t in the city. Maybe it’s one of those supercar storage garages that hang Lambos from the ceiling like potted plants and are attached to a track so that buyers can test the control before purchasing. The idea of spinning around a track next to Rhett sends a thrill up my spine.
“Hmmmm,” I muse. “I suppose the three ‘B’s. Blonde, big boobs, and boring.”
“That would be four ‘B’s,” Rhett corrects.
“Whatever,” I say. “My point stands.”
“The point being that I like women with more looks than brains. Ouch,” Rhett says mockingly. “Really you’re insulting yourself more than me.”
“I—” I pause. He’s got me there. “I guess I’m an outlier,” I say.
“I guess you could change that ‘blonde’ to ‘brunette’ and you’d get the same outcome.”
I turn to him indignantly. “Okay, I might be able to give you boring, but big boobs these are not.”
His grin is wolfish and utterly devious. “I should say here that the second ‘B’ stands for ‘butts’.”
