Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(55)

“That’s neither the ’Stang nor the SUV. I may not be a car girl, but I know those two things. Just how many cars do you have, Lambert?” she asked as they walked. She waited for him to walk past her toward the driver’s side door, but he just stood there, watching her.

“You don’t like it?”

Curious. “It’s fine.” She shrugged. “Looks… clean. Dependable. Safe. Not your preferred method of transportation,” she added with a grin. He rolled his eyes, then tossed her the keys.

“It’s yours, so mock all you want.”

Kat stared at the keys in her hands, then at the car. She had no clue what this car was, but it was definitely a decent car, and looked like it had just driven off the car lot. If it were a cartoon, the car would have one of those shiny light twinkles, it was that clean. “What…?”

“You need a way to get around. It’s yours. I know a guy. He cut me a great deal.” Michael shrugged, then opened the passenger door. “Getting in?”

Kat opened the backseat, gently placed her tennis bag and duffle in the back, and breathed in the new-car smell. Which meant she was inhaling a lot of chemicals, but it was totally worth it. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she just took in the dashboard, the controls, the cup holders.

“These cup holders are huge!”

He laughed softly. “That’s what you care about?”

“When you are constantly lugging around massive water bottles… hell yeah, I care. Michael…” Her fingertips drifted slowly around the car’s interior, touching everything, feeling, experiencing. “I have to pay you back.”

“Okay.”

She snorted. “No, please, I insist.”

“I knew you wouldn’t accept it as a gift, so you might as well pay for it. I’ll take installments.”

She turned the car on, then checked the mileage readout. Under fifteen thousand. Not brand new but definitely newish. “How old?”

“Two-year-old program car. Dealership owner’s wife drove it. The dealership maintains the program cars, so they’re always spotless and mechanically sound.”

“I’ve never owned a car this new,” she admitted. Probably sounded stupid to him, especially given his car love and the fact that he could just walk into any dealership and plunk a suitcase full of cash on a table to drive off with one. “I probably can’t afford it.”

“You can once you win a Grand Slam.”

“Look who’s upping his tennis lingo,” she whispered, still in awe of the car. “I can’t afford this, Michael. My payments will be tiny. My grandchildren will be paying this car off.”

“Interest free,” he added, then told her how much he paid for it.

“I’m no car girl, but that seems insanely low for a car this close to new.”

“It just comes back to the IOU collection. Like I said, I know a guy. I buy a shitload of cars from them, and they do all my detailing and mechanics. Plus anytime a new guy joins the team, I send them Robbie’s way. Believe me, he owed me a good deal.”

“And you wasted your IOU on me.” For the first time since they’d climbed in the car, she turned to face him, unsure of what to say. Taking a chance, she cupped his face and kissed him.

He sat stiffly for a moment, then leaned into it and really planted one on her in return, invading her space and making her feel possessed. Wanted. Needed. He pressed into her, making her bend back slightly and—

Honk!

She jumped, knocking foreheads with Michael. They both groaned and rubbed at their heads with the palms of their hands.

“Like a couple of damn teenagers,” Michael muttered, but he was smiling.

“You started it.” But Kat couldn’t stop grinning.

“You kissed first.”

“You bought the car.”

“You accepted the car.”

Kat smoothed a hand over the wheel. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“But you will.”

His confidence made her, perversely, want to tease. “Maybe I’ll take it, then sell it on the black market.”

“There’s no black market when you own the car. It’s just… selling the car.”

Damn. “Why not a sports car?”

“Gear.”

She raised her brow. “What?”

“You’re an athlete. Nobody knows better than another athlete how much shit we have to carry at any given time. It’s why I picked an SUV for my other car. Tossing my bags into the back of a two-door car is hell. Plus you’ve got long legs. A sports car is fine when you have another option. When it’s your only option… not so fun.”

Practical and considerate. “But not an SUV.”

“Do I look made of money?”

She snorted. “Okay then. Thank you.”

He held out a hand, and she reached hers to him to lace their fingers a moment, squeeze, then release to reach for the gearshift.

Her hand froze, and he sighed. “What?”

“I have no clue how to get home.”



“I’m making dinner tonight.” Kat pointed at her apartment as they each got their keys out. “Don’t argue.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Michael nodded. “I have to shower first.”