Page 66 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

His eyes thinned, but I didn’t miss the way his mouth struggled to push back a smile. “I’ll make you another deal.”

“Tomorrow. I was supposed to be in a cab twenty minutes ago.”

“Pretty sure there’s a limit as to how much dirt you’re allowed to take into a cab with you.”

I glanced down at myself. “I have dirt on me? Where?”

His throat bobbed, lips pressing together as he pointedly rubbed at his nose with his index finger.

“How embarrassing. In front of my boss, no less.” Without hesitating, I grabbed a fistful of his crisp white shirt and used it to wipe my face. Fuck me, he smelled divine. “All gone?”

His tongue was poking the inside of his cheek, he was trying so hard not to laugh. “You’ve still got some on your neck.”

I meant to pull him forward with my grip, but the difference in our muscle mass made it impossible. So I stepped closer instead, again using his shirt to wipe away the grime. “Good?”

“Perfect. This might be the cleanest you’ve ever looked. I wouldn’t even bother showering or changing before your date.”

I snorted, releasing him with a light, playful shove. “Bye.”

He fell into step beside me without missing a beat. “Technically, you didn’t win the game, which means, technically, you don’t have the night off.”

“Yeah, well, technically, you were disqualified the second you ripped the tape off and started talking, which means, technically, I did win, and I do have the night off.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Where?”

“To your place. Underbite. Wherever. That way, you can ruin my car instead of an innocent cab driver’s day.”

Tempting. Really. “What’s in it for you?”

He cleared his throat, glancing around like he was trying his best to appear indifferent. “Spaghetti and stuffed mushrooms for lunch tomorrow. Mom’s recipe.”

I stopped walking. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’ve been craving it for weeks.”

“And you didn’t ask her to make it for you while visiting?” Unless she’d had a full-fledged lobotomy at some point in the last eight years, she’d probably have been ecstatic to do it. Almost nothing made Rosie happier than feeding the people she loved.

“She spent half her life cooking and cleaning for other people, Alice. If I have my way, she never has to lift a finger for anyone else ever again—and that includes me. And given thatwas the first chance I’d had to visit her in over three weeks, I didn’t think to immediately demand labor from her.”

Oh. Well.

Okay, then.

He looked around, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Having said that, I obviously do miss her cooking. So here’s my new offer: I don’t know why you’ve given up utilizing the hoard of private drivers on your family’s payroll—or why you yourself don’t own a dealership’s worth of cars—but according to the security cameras and new night crew, you’re either being picked up and dropped off around the corner every day, or you’re taking the bus.”

“In what world would I know how to take the bus?”

He ignored this, having clearly caught on. “I’ll give you a ride. To and from my place every day, and anywhere else you might need, in exchange for three proper, home-cooked meals per day.”

That made no sense. None whatsoever. “And, what, you’re offering to do it yourself? Instead of hiring someone else to drive me around?”

“If it was anyone else behind the wheel, you’d say no.”

“How do you know?”

His chin gave a subtle dip. “All right, fine. Hey, Alice, will you cook me three meals a day if I hire you a driver?”