“They’re called puck bunnies, and they hang around wherever we are with the hopes they’ll be picked up by one of us.”
“I’m not an idiot. That was easy to figure out.”
“And I bet you assume I pick one or two up a night.”
“It’s really none of my business,” I say, wanting this conversation to end. He always beats me with his snappy comebacks and I’m not in the mood to second-guess everything I say on the plane ride home.
“Come on. Tell me. How many women do you think I bring home during the season?” He seems oddly amused by the blush filling my cheeks, and I really want to flip him off for getting off on making me uncomfortable.
I turn to look out the window. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Come on. I can take it.”
I shake my head.
“Are you a prude?”
“What are you, fourteen?” I scowl.
He shrugs. “Some people probably think my maturity level never developed past that age.”
I tend to agree with them. “Just take me to the airport, then I’ll be out of your hair for the moment. I’m sure you can’t wait for that to happen.”
He blows out a breath. “I can’t believe you won’t answer the question. This is your moment to tell me exactly what you think of me.”
“You’re my boss’s son. I’m not going to degrade you.”
“Degrade me? So you must think the number is high, huh?”
I shake my head. “The last I checked, cameras don’t lie.”
We both know I’m referring to all the pictures of him out and about with various women.
He laughs and points at me through the rearview mirror. “There you go. Keep going. Give me a number.”
“I don’t really care to.”
“Sure you do.”
“I really don’t.”
Silence commences for a moment, and I cross my fingers that he’ll let the topic rest.
“Tell me your number if it makes you feel better.” We’re stopped at a light, so he looks directly at me through the mirror.
I hope the darkness of the interior hides the fact I’d never in a million years tell him my number. My mortification would be complete. “No.”
“It’s okay if it’s low. Actually, most guys would prefer low.”
I stare blankly at him. No way he just said that. First of all, why would it be cool if a guy has a high number and a girl doesn’t? But more to the point… “Why do you assume my number is low?”
“Well, you’re certainly not dressed like you want to have sex tonight.”
“Because I don’t.” Okay, not entirely true. I can admit to thinking about what it would be like to sleep with Ford, but not in any real way. I must be losing it because I actually look down at myself to see what I’m wearing. A pair of pin-striped pants and a blouse. It’s presentable and professional and there’s nothing wrong with it. “Are you comparing me to your bunnies who dress like they’re in the tropics regardless of the temperature outside?”
He laughs. It’d be interesting to know how he wants Annabelle to dress when she’s older. “I’m just saying, you never show your legs. It wouldn’t kill you to show some cleavage now and then.”
“For who? Do you want to see my cleavage?” I feel my body temperature rising. I hope we reach the private airport quickly. “Do you know how sexist you sound? Should I complain that you’re not showing off your groin cleavage whenever I see you?”
“Groin cleavage?” His forehead wrinkles.
“You know, those hip indentations arrowing down toward your junk.”
“Babe, what I have is not even close to being junk.”
I clench my hands, wanting to scream. “Probably diamond-encrusted,” I mumble to myself.
His laugh says he heard me. “I’m really enjoying you this trip.”
“Wish I could say the same.”
He turns into the small airport that his family jet flies in and out of. Thank goodness I’m seconds away from being out of this car before I go ballistic. Not that I think Mr. Jacobs would fire me. I’ve seen him go ballistic on his son quite often. Ford parks the car and my hand flies to the door handle.
“I’m just messing with you. Except the part about my dick not being junk. If I wasn’t on a sex diet, I’d show you.” He winks.
I shake my head and open the door. “You’re unbelievable.”
But as I stomp toward the small office where the pilot is supposed to be, Ford half exits his car. “I meant that as a compliment.”
I raise my hand in a dismissive gesture. And I have to admit to being pretty proud of myself for not raising my middle finger.
When I step into the small airport office, the pilot isn’t there. My shoulders slump and I pull out my phone, seeing a message from him. How did I miss his call? Quickly, I dial up my voice mail.
“Hey, Lena, I’m sorry, but there’s a problem with the plane and the mechanic doesn’t have the part, so we’re here until tomorrow. I’ll call as soon as I know something concrete.”
I end the call and plop down onto a seat. I didn’t even pack a bag because this has never happened before. Then I spring up out of my seat. Shit. I race out the door and see the taillights of Ford’s Mercedes in the distance. I fumble with my phone to press on his name so I can catch him before he gets too far.
“Second thoughts? I suppose I can show you, but you can’t touch.” He laughs and my teeth clench.
“I need you,” I say between gritted teeth.
“Say it a little breathier, more seductive.”
“Ford!”
“Oh no. That makes it sound like you’re going to bite my dick off. Not good.”
My shoulders slump and I walk farther into the deserted parking lot. “Just please come back and get me. There’s an issue with the plane and I can’t leave until tomorrow.”
“No need for excuses. You don’t want to be far away from me. That’s sweet.” His brake lights flash right before he does a U-turn. “No worries, darling, your prince is on his way to rescue you.”
I hang up on his laugh. The man is maddening.
I watch him come back and he unlocks the doors. I’m unsure if I should sit with Annabelle or in the front, so I hesitate.
He rolls down the window. “Do you need directions? Okay, you put your hand under the handle—”
“I got it.” I open up the passenger side and climb onto the plush leather seat of the high-end car, the likes of which I’ll most likely never own.
“Do you need me to buckle you in?”
“Just drive,” I say.
“Whatever the madam wants, the madam gets.” He pulls out of the airport.
I take my phone from my bag and search for a hotel, ignoring him.
“You can stay with me. I have more than enough rooms.”
“That’s okay.” I continue to check, not finding a lot of vacancies unless I want to stay somewhere sketchy. Clearly something big is going on in Waterfall Springs.
“Unless you booked a room about a year ago, you’re probably done for. It’s Merfest weekend.”