Page 24 of Own the Eights
“I prefer His Majesty, the High Emperor of Asshattery.”
She shook her head. “I’ll call Triple-A, and then I’ll meet you at the location.”
“No,” he answered. He wasn’t about to twiddle his thumbs and wait for her car to get a jump, or worse, it may need to be towed. That could take hours.
Georgie’s brows knit together. “No?”
“We need to go, Georgie. We have twenty-four hours before the post is due.”
She didn’t get it.
“I don’t know if you know who the Dannies are, but they’re not waiting twenty-four hours, and neither am I,” he said and opened her car door.
Without thinking, he extended his hand. “The Emperor of Asshattery would like to offer you a ride.”
She frowned. “Is this you trying to be charming?”
No, this was him acting like a super nerd, which he was not in any way, shape, or form.
He pointed to his outstretched hand. “Take it or leave it, messy bun girl?”
“Whatever,” she murmured and took his hand then stilled, her eyes growing wide.
She felt it, too. When they’d shaken hands in the CityBeat elevator, and all he’d wanted to do was lace his fingers with hers, and he wasn’t a hand holder. That kind of bullshit was relegated to the pussy-whipped. In the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset, he advocated touch but only when fucking a perfect ten. Hair pulling, wrist grabbing, and ass biting were all fine and good in the bedroom. But a Marks Perfect Ten man kept his cool in public.
He helped her out of the car but not before brushing his thumb across her knuckles. She had long, slender fingers that fit perfectly in his hand, and the urge to kiss her palm, to bring her lovely fingers to his lips and kiss the tip of each one, a cheesy as hell move if ever there was one, tore through him.
Christ, Marks! Remember the mindset!
“I need to grab my bag,” she said, her gaze locked on their joined hands.
“Right,” he answered, and, with a reluctance that didn’t fit into his Marks Perfect Ten Mindset, he let go.
“Where are you parked?” she asked over her shoulder.
He reached into his pocket, took out his key fob, and unlocked the doors to the BMW SUV parked directly in front of her car. Georgie locked her car door manually, then chuckled and shook her head.
He frowned. “What?”
She made an exaggerated gesture like a model on a game show toward the sleek silver car. “Is this a Marks Perfect Ten Mindset vehicle?” she purred, really overdoing it.
He glanced at the shiny hood and buffed wheels. “Yeah,” he answered, coming around to open her door.
“Only luxury cars for the Marks man?” she asked, settling herself inside. Despite that awful cardigan and sandals made for a nativity reenactment, she looked damn good in his car even with that God-awful bun.
He closed her door, came around to his side, and got in. “No, just about any type of car can be a Marks Perfect Ten Mindset car. I suggest that, whatever type of vehicle you have, you keep the interior pristine and the outside washed and waxed.”
“Hmm,” she replied. “And yes, I have heard of the Dannies. A couple of Danielle’s posts popped up in my newsfeed. I wanted to vomit after I read them.”
“Do you remember which ones?”
The DannyLyfe blog was his main competition, and he’d made a habit of checking their posts.
She sat back in her seat, jaw set, her cheeks growing pink. “A delightful article titled, How to Please Your Man When You’re Under the Weather, which basically said even if you’re on death’s door, if your guy’s in the mood to screw, suck it up, buttercup. Oh, and then there was another about how women should hide their intelligence, so they don’t intimidate a potential suitor and another doozy about there being a proper way to kiss.”
He pulled out into traffic. “I agree with you. The first two are total bullshit, but there is a right and a wrong way to kiss.”
She turned to him in her seat with a furrowed brow and that sweet blush still coloring her cheeks. “No, there is not aright wayto kiss. A kiss shared between two people who have connected on a deep, substantive level, not lured by looks or status, will always produce the perfect kiss.”
