Page 11 of Drop the Mitts

“André —” Grace tried to grab his hand, but he was too quick, snagging a couple with face paint and light-up necklaces as the men walked on.

“Threesome tonight? With her?” André held out his hands in front of her like he’d just pulled a door open to reveal a free car.

The woman giggled and nodded, and the man’s eyes widened. He pulled out his phone.

Grace flushed. “No, thank you! He’s just—” She gave an apologetic wave and yanked André out of the river of people winding toward the parking lot. His behavior was so ridiculous, her mind was wiped clean and all she could say was,“What the hell?”

He grinned. “I’m proving a point. You’re a beautiful woman. So don’t get all pissed and self-righteous when people notice.”

Grace scoffed. “I’m not an object for your enjoyment, asshole.” She pushed past him, stalking toward the parking lot.This was why she didn’t go out socially, why she said no to invitations to hockey games, and why she didn’t hang out with single men. She’d never seen herself as having old spinster energy, but cats, tea, and crochet were looking fantastic right about now.

“Exactly.” He jogged after her. “I’m telling you I’d love to take you home right now and do every dirty thing that ran through my head the first time I saw you walking into that adoption party.Ifyou wanted me to. But since you’re obviously not interested, I’m offering to walk you to your car. That’s the least asshole thing I could do, no? You told me you don’t want me to pleasure you into the wee hours of the morning, and I’m still being a gentleman. I could’ve walked away. Cut my losses.”

Grace whirled on him. “And there was no part of you that thought if you played your cards right?—”

“Every part of me thought.” He stood so close, the spearmint on his breath cooled her cheek. He didn’t smell like a smoker. “One part, specifically.” André pulled the coat from her hands and dramatically draped it over her shoulders a second time. “If you didn’t notice, I’m French. I love art, and I love pleasure.”

The skin on his biceps and forearms prickled from the cold, but it didn’t seem to bother him in the least. He stepped back and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “Do you ever do things for fun, Grace?”

She rolled her eyes. “Am I supposed to walk into that? I say ‘sometimes’ and you say, ‘would you domefor fun?’”

“Hm. That’s funny. I’ll remember that. You know, for other women who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Ha. Ha.”

André grinned, walking backward. “I don’t think you had fun tonight.” He pulled out his lighter and flicked it.

She followed him, her eyes flashing as she pulled the coat tighter around her. If he wasn’t going to take it, she’d at least use it until she got to the car. “And you would know?”

André exhaled slowly, the cigarette glowing between his fingers as he gave her one of those infuriating grins. “I observe,” he corrected, tapping ash onto the pavement as he turned toward the rows of cars. “I’m guessing you parked in the least convenient place possible? Didn’t want to scratch your nice car?” She let out a slow breath, unwilling to admit it. André slowed his stride, glancing at her sideways, smirking like he was putting pieces together.

“Let me guess.” He gestured toward a row of sleek, mid-tier luxury sedans. “You’re the black Lexus. Safe, practical, but still a power move.”

Grace didn’t blink. “No.”

His grin widened. “I like this game.”

“You’re playing by yourself.”

“Mm.” He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling into the cold night air before pointing to a Range Rover parked under a streetlamp. “That one. Big, intimidating. Perfect for overcompensating.”

She let out a sharp laugh before she could stop herself. “I have nothing to overcompensate for.” Fake bravado. Not a good look, but she couldn’t help herself. An SUV had been on the table for a few minutes two years ago when Honda came out with a hybrid.

André nodded. “Interesting. So you make big money, but you don’t spend big money.”

She picked up her pace. “I didn’t say I make big money.”

“Based on that purse, either you do or Daddy does. But you don’t strike me as someone who would take handouts.” André tossed his cigarette onto the asphalt and stomped it out with the heel of his shoe.

Grace searched for a smart-ass rebuttal on that one, but his comment stung. Her parents both made good money, but they were never flush. They’d saved up for years to go to Europe for the first time, and the purse André noticed? Her parents gave it to her for her thirtieth birthday.

André stopped and scanned the lot again, then pointed at the back corner. “It’s the Volkswagen, isn’t it?”

Grace strode past him and reached into her purse to click her key fob. The lights flashed.

André jogged to catch up. “Classy. Reliable. A little boring, but that tracks.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Call your therapist. Maybe she’d have some insights.” She pulled open the driver’s side door. “Maybe when you get a little older, you’ll understand the need for comfort in a vehicle.”

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