Page 17 of The Art of Scandal

“The friendly neighborhood kind.” He grinned. “No cash, no problem. It’s also a good excuse to come back and visit the next time your housekeeper goes on vacation.”

Her smile dimmed. “How do you know I don’t do my own laundry?”

Because he’d lived here long enough to know that women like her rarely separated their own colors and whites. But they also didn’t look at him the way she did, like some decadent dessert they were tempted to try. They never looked at him at all. “You’re right. I shouldn’t assume.”

“It’s been a while since I used a laundromat. But I’m not from here.” She said it like it meant something. Or like she needed it to.

“Where are you from?”

“Southeast DC. My neighborhood was mostly rental houses and apartments. Not like this place. At all.”

“Yeah, I bet.” She kept glancing out the window at his car parked near the entrance. “Are you a gearhead?” he asked.

She jerked her eyes back like she’d been caught. “Me? No. I don’t know what’s under the hood or anything.”

“But you like cars.”

“I likethosecars. Loud and temperamental tanks that might kill you in a crash.” She paused. “Or save you, depending on where it lands. And the body… a hard frame with soft curves. I love a contradiction.”

Nathan thought about her public persona. How rigid and rehearsed she seemed, adopting the same pose in every photo. But last night she’d been tearstained and vulnerable. A hard frame with soft curves. His eyes drifted lower to the swell of her hip. She caught him looking. They stared at each other with lust flooding the air like dopamine. Her face reddened and she turned away.

“How long do these usually take?” She gestured toward the washer. “I could probably come back.”

If she left, he might never see her again. Not alone like this. Not after that look. “Do you want to go for a ride?”

She froze. “With you? Don’t you…” She scanned the empty room. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I own this place. So no, I don’t.”

She looked at the car and then back at him. “I shouldn’t.”

“But do you want to?” He was surprised at how even his voice was. His heart was pounding in his throat.

Rachel sat with his question for the longest five seconds of his life before a reckless grin lit her face like wildfire. She held out her hand. “Can I drive?”

Nathan tried very hard not to look at her ass on the way to his car, and Rachel appreciated the effort. She might have ignored it if he hadn’t defaulted to sidelong glances at her face. His brown eyes became amber in the sunlight streaming through the windshield, transforming his handsome features into something ethereal. It was hard to keep her eyes on the road.

Men were better listeners when they were attracted to someone. Rachel had been told from an early age that she was a pretty girl and should be grateful for her looks. That people would kill for good hair like hers and she wasn’tthatdark, so the guys who only dated light-skinned girls would probably make an exception. Which was another way of saying that she wasn’t worth much.Don’t waste what little you have.Take advantage of every door that opens wider when you smile.

Rachel had met Faith’s father at a house party in Georgetown when she was fifteen and still believed the number of eyes that followed her across the room was the measure of her value. Her flirting was giggly and indiscriminate, fueled by foul punch that consisted of different fruity vodkas mixed together. One cup had her buzzed enough to trip over someone’s purse. Adrian caught her. He was dark and lean, with an easy smile that made her stomach flip when he offered to buy her coffee. They left the house and he walked her toward a 1970 cherry-red Chevy Chevelle with thick white lines across the hood.

She’d spent the next three days being chauffeured around the city in white leather seats. People with vintage cars never shut up about them, and Adrian was no exception. She learned more about horsepower than she ever cared to remember. But she also loved to sink low against the leather and let the loud rumble of the engine drown out everything but the road.

Adrian had just turned eighteen and drove in from the West Coast to celebrate his birthday because he loved fishing and Maryland crab cakes. He was almost too gentle when they had sex, like he didn’t believe she was as experienced as she claimed. Rachel didn’t know much about what she wanted from men back then, but she knew it wasn’t a pedestal. When he gave her his number and said he’d like to see her again, she’d waited until his taillights were gone before throwing it in the trash.

Not keeping that scrap of paper was her biggest regret. Whenever Faith asked about him, that careless mistake gnawed at her insides. If she could travel back in time and tell that version of herself that she’d conceived her only child in the back seat of that car, things might have been different. The hardest parts of her life might have been more bearable with someone who considered Faith a piece of their own soul too.

Now she understood why Adrian had never let her drive the Chevelle. Nathan’s car was like steering a wild horse on a two-lane road. The first turn was terrifying. The next was amazing. When she gave it gas, it rattled her body like an earthquake.

Nathan was almost eerily calm when she gunned the engine or underestimated a turn. He kept both hands resting against his thighs, still stealing glances when he thought she wasn’t looking. His attention made her skin feel tight and sensitive. Every look was like a touch. Combined with the adrenaline of the drive, she was turned on in a way that felt as sacred and vital as the blood coursing through her veins.

Matt used to call her insatiable. He meant it as a compliment, but it was also judgment, something to distinguish her from the other women he used to date. Once they were married, insatiable became a switch that she had to turn off to be more palatable. She was a Black woman, with a teenage mother bio that everyone loved to applaud in public but mentioned skeptically behind her back. If a woman flirted, Rachel never played along. If a man held her gaze too long, she’d avoid him the rest of the night. She even hid her sex toys in a plain black bag, deep inside her closet so her own husband wouldn’t be reminded that he’d married a woman who owned a dildo.

But that was before she’d extorted Matt for money. She’d felt the change in herself the moment she’d asked for Nathan’s car keys. The insatiable switch was back on and dialed up to its thirstiest setting. Nathan took up so much space in the car that his body was impossible to ignore. He had to be five or six inches taller than she was. His biceps were nearly the size of her thigh. What would it feel like to be held by someone like that? Someone big enough to block out the sun.

He pointed to a street on their right. “Don’t miss the turn.”

Rachel jerked the steering wheel left and then tried to quickly spin it in the opposite direction. The car fishtailed. This time, Nathan covered her hand with his. Her pulse skyrocketed from a rush of fear and adrenaline. And his touch. Their intertwined fingers guided the car onto the side of the road.

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