Page 115 of Damaged Mogul
I’m no songstress, but fuck if that stops me from going for it.
Gage’s head jerks back at my impromptu show.
I move my upper body as if auditioning to be part of a video.
I don’t hold back.
I belt the lyrics to the bridge of Ultra Nate’s songFree.
Gage blinks.
I guess this is a departure from the quiet woman he met yesterday.
I’ve worn shackles my whole life.
This is the freest I’ve ever felt.
I’m going to blame the California sun––and the man sitting next to me––for yanking me out of my shell.
After a pit stop at O’Dwyer’s Fine Ice Creams, we were back in Gage’s Bond car, armed with a cooler bag filled with ice packs and pints of ice cream. I was dying for a scoop for the road, but my travel companion suggested I wait. He promised the perfect spot to enjoy our creamy desserts. I took the bait.
I didn’t expect a rest stop along the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu, but that’s where we are.
He cuts the engine.
He unfastens his seatbelt, shifts in his seat, and pulls his leg up so his body is facing me.
I mimic him.
He pushes his sunglasses over his head.
There’s nothing obstructing his handsome face.
Yesterday, his face was all granite. Gone are the sexy lips pressed in a grim line. Although, he isn’t grinning ear to ear, the hint of softness is so attractive on him.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
I had it in a pulled back style, similar to what I had it at Rhys’s party, but when Gage came back to get me, he insisted I wear it out. I’m obsessed about having it perfectly straight, but he loves the wave. Since I’m only wearing a touch of makeup, he says it adds to the fresh-faced look.
“I thought we’d enjoy this sunny day and some lunch before heading to Malibu,” he says.
“You grabbed lunch on your way back to the hotel?”
He shakes his head. “I grabbed lunchatthe hotel.”
I furrow my brows.
“It’s in the trunk,” he says. “You’re okay with that?”
“I am.”
“Let me come around.” He gets out of the car.
I sit pretty.
He opens the passenger door and extends a hand.
I take it.
