Dating Games(49)

I pass him a flirtatious look as I link my fingers with his, his skin rough against mine. “Let the games begin.”





Chapter Eighteen





“So what’s our story?” I turn to Julian as he drives along the streets of Southampton. It’s the first time I’ve seen him behind the wheel. There’s something incredibly sexy about it. The natural confidence he exudes as he shifts from third to fourth, his free hand resting leisurely on the wheel. For most people, driving is a necessity, a way to get from point A to point B in the shortest amount of time. Julian makes it appear like an art form.

And let’s face it, his car is ridiculously hot, too. I practically had an orgasm when we entered his garage and I feasted my eyes on a fleet of luxury cars — Land Rover, Porsche, Mercedes, Tesla, Bentley, Jaguar. But when Julian clicked a key fob and the lights to a red Ferrari Portofino convertible blinked, I all but had to wipe the drool off my lower lip. When he asked if I wanted to take it for a spin sometime, I offered to give him a blow job in return. Jokingly, of course. But that’s how amazing this car is in the hierarchy of hot cars. It truly is blow-job worthy. The hum of the engine as he revved it to life only solidified my original assessment.

“What do you mean?” His smile is bright against his tan skin.

“People are bound to ask how we met. I can’t come out and tell them the truth.”

“Why not?” He’s so cavalier about it, composed and in control, acting as if we’re not about to walk into a party where we’ll try to convince the Hamptons’ elite we’re an item.

“For one, we met in a bar. I’m sure you’d rather we make up something, like we met at a Sotheby’s auction or doing something else people with a ridiculous amount of money do.” I squint at him, pinching my lips together. “What is it you people do for fun?”

He laughs, shaking his head as he shifts into fifth. “We people…” He playfully lifts a brow, “do the same kinds of things you do for fun.”

“Except you probably smoke better weed and do keg stands on twenty-four karat gold kegs with diamond-encrusted taps.”

“Actually, the taps are hard to come by this year, but twenty-four karat kegs are a dime a dozen up here.” He winks, his response taking me by surprise. Whenever I’d make a joke like that to Trevor, he’d scold me for being absurd, that I should be more serious. It’s refreshing to be with someone who can appreciate my sense of humor.

“Thank God, because there is no way I’m drinking Natty Ice out of anything other than a keg that’s plated in gold. A broad’s got her standards.”

“Of course.”

It’s silent before I speak again. “But seriously… Shouldn’t we make sure our stories line up?”

“What’s there to line up? We met in a bar.” He glances at me. “Not at a Sotheby’s auction.”

“Horseback riding?”

“Definitely not.”

“Golfing?”

“Hate the sport.”

“At the racquetball club?”

“It’s for men only.”

“Chauvinistic bastards.”

“They certainly are. Only men would make a competition out of smacking balls against a wall.”

I shift my eyes to his, fighting against my smile. “Did the Julian Gage just make yet another joke? I thought the first one was a fluke, but a second one in so many minutes?”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

I face forward, allowing the strong rays of the sun to warm my face. I wonder if Dana knew which car Julian would take to the party and that’s why she instructed that I tie a wrap around my hair. It does go with the vintage style of the rest of my wardrobe, but it has also proved to be rather practical.

“I had this image in my mind of you being so serious, like you were born shitting caviar and pissing Champagne.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know.” I fidget with the line of my coverup, hesitating before blurting out, “I Googled you.”

“I figured you would.” His voice shifts, no longer playful. Now it’s more serious, cautious. He clears his throat. “Find anything interesting?” He steals a glimpse at me before staring straight ahead, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in a hard swallow.

“No,” I respond thoughtfully. “It simply solidified my opinion of you.”

“Do I want to hear what that is?”

“That you’re a good person, despite what some tabloids would lead people to believe.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his grip on the steering wheel tighten. According to my research, Julian came into his fortune nearly ten years ago now. I can’t believe he’s still dealing with the quiet whispers and upturned noses, even after all this time.

“I like to believe that karma rewarded your generous spirit.”

Upon hearing my words, he flicks his gaze toward me as he lifts his hand from the gear shift and grabs onto mine, squeezing.

“Thank you.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a gentle, heartfelt smile. It’s not the sensual, flirtatious one I’m accustomed to. It’s real, genuine, pure, a peek into who Julian Gage truly is.

“Of course.”