Matteo and Giovanni enter the dining room, stealing our attention away once again.
I turn away from Chloe despite the urge I have to steal her away and call it a night. “Chloe reminded me of a funny story while you both were in the restroom.”
“Oh, hell yes!” Giovanni claps his hands together.
“I’m not sure if you read anything in the papers about the time a desperate fan was escorted off the F1 property after they snuck into my suite to confess their love?”
Chloe’s laugh echoes off the walls, solidifying my choice. I like the way it sounds way too much.
“No! Wow. How long ago was this?” Matteo smiles.
One question down, eleven more to go.
I might have stepped away from the F1 podiums, but that doesn’t mean I stopped craving a win. And I’m ready to beat the competition into submission.
“We’re going to die. It’s official. God save us,” Chloe mumbles, looking up to the car’s roof. She does the sign of the cross incorrectly, and I laugh as I show her how it’s really done.
“Relax.” I scan our surroundings. The street is empty and flat—the perfect place to teach someone how to drive.
“When you won last night, I didn’t expect you to waste your win on this.”
“Well, I did say we needed to amend your issue of not knowing how to drive. That’s illegal in my house.” I rub the leather dashboard of the Jeep. I’m offering Chloe the sturdiest of my vehicles to learn how to drive.
“There’s three pedals. Why are there three pedals?” She moans.
The sound sends a rush straight to my cock. I take a deep breath, easing the ache that’s become familiar around Chloe. “Because automatic cars are for grandmas.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll own up to being a grandma because I barely go out anyway. I mean, I embroider as a hobby. I’m practically one year away from fostering cats and living the rest of my life attached to an oxygen tank.”
I offer her a blank expression, denying my urge to laugh.
She offers me the praying hands. “Please don’t make me do this. You’re no John Cusack, and this isn’t Say Anything.”
“What are you even rambling about?”
“Have you ever seen the movie?”
“No.”
She looks up at the ceiling. “It seems I have two things to pray about now. It’s no wonder you’ve been single for so long. Do you even know how to woo a woman?”
I blink at her. “I do not need to woo.”
“Everyone woos. You’re breaking my eighties-loving heart.”
“Really? How many men have you wooed?”
Her cheeks flush. “Uhm…I don’t woo. But that’s different.” The words rush out of her mouth.
“Of course it is. Double standards tend to be oddly convenient.”
Her mouth parts. “Excuse me? There are no double standards. I just was never interested in wooing someone before! That’s totally different.”
“Because your eighties-loving heart set your standards for love too high?”
“Exactly. You’d understand if you grew up around my mother and her crappy boyfriend. I’d rather have high standards than that dumpster fire mislabeled as a romance.”
“Wait. Have you not been in love?” I don’t know why I’m shocked. I’ve never been in love either, but Chloe…she’s different. Someone should’ve snatched her up by now. At least for a little while.
She focuses on the steering wheel. “No. Have you?”
“No,” I answer honestly.
“See, maybe if you wooed a girl, you’d be in love already.” She flashes me a grin.
I shake my head and return my attention back to the task. “Stop distracting me so I can explain how this is done.”
I go through each step with her, explaining the gear shift, the pedals, and all the other basics she needs to know.
She grips onto the gear shift and tries to move it. Her brows pull together as she releases an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I guess since the car is broken, we should just quit now before anyone gets hurt. Better safe than sorry.”
“You forgot to turn the car on.” I cover my smile with my fist.
“You’re enjoying my struggle way too much. I knew you were demented, but this is a whole new level of fucked up, Santiago Alatorre.” Chloe rolls her Rs perfectly.
My dick perks up at the way she says my name. I’ve yet to share my nickname with her, which is new for me. I kind of like how Chloe’s one of the few people to call me Santiago rather than Santi. Might as well keep it that way. I shimmy in my seat, adjusting myself while explaining how to turn on the car.