Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(30)

He tosses the keys to the salesman, who fumbles them briefly, looking utterly put out at not being able to show off the car.

Gavin slides into the driver’s seat, and he looks so natural doing it. “Thanks for your help,” he tells the salesman, who looks completely flummoxed, and shuts the door in his face. Starting the car, he revs the engine hard, causing the salesman to jump backward a step.

I cover my mouth with my hand so as not to laugh, and Gavin shoots me a sideways grin. Putting his seatbelt on, he says, “Ready to see what this puppy can do?”

“I can see it already put a dent in your wallet,” I quip as I pull my seatbelt on.

He puts the car in reverse, backs it away from the salesman, who gives us a small wave, with a smile now on his face as I’m sure he’s calculating the commission he just made. “It’s just money,” Gavin says.

“Says the person who has it oozing out of his pores,” I say with a snort.

Putting the car in drive, Gavin pulls away from the sales lot and out on to Capital Boulevard. “You sound like you begrudge me my newly earned wealth.”

“Not at all. I think if I had as much money as you, I’d buy this car too. And one for each of my friends.”

Gavin gives a short laugh but it’s genuine, and I realize I don’t think I’ve heard such an easy sound come from him before. It’s nice.

“So, tell me about your friends,” he says casually as we make our way south down Capital back to the beltline. “I’ve already deduced you’re friends with that bartender at Last Call. Not lovers, by the way.”

“Not lovers,” I agree. “That’s Brody, and he’s not a bartender. He was just filling in that night. He actually runs The Haven with his fiancée, Alyssa.”

“You have a lot of respect for them,” he deduces from the tone of my voice.

“A ton. Alyssa is like a saint. She started The Haven a few years back and was working her fingers to the bone to keep it going. Brody has been working with her full time for a few months now.”

“What did he do before that?” Gavin asks inquisitively.

“He was in prison,” I say softly, wondering if whenever I think of Brody being locked away for something he didn’t do will ever not cause me pain.

“You’re kidding,” Gavin says with disbelief.

“No. Drunk driving accident and someone died.”

“That’s awful,” he says in commiseration. “How long was he away for?”

“Five long years.”

We’re silent for a few moments, and I have no clue if Gavin wants to ask me more about Brody or not. It’s a morbid story, which would hold fascination for even the most disinterested person, but he instead asks, “What about your other friends? The group of girls you were with the other night.”

“You know Casey already, but Alyssa was there, and the other woman is Gabby. Her fiancé, Hunter, is Brody’s twin brother and he also owns Last Call.”

“Twin brothers, both engaged to girls that are close friends,” Gavin ruminates. “Will there be a double wedding?”

“No clue,” I say with a grin. “But it was a double engagement. The boys pulled it off and proposed at the same time.”

“Quite the tight little circle you have there,” he muses.

“Not really. I mean… they’ve all known each other for years. I’m new to the group and not as close to them. Well, I am to Brody, but we tend to work a lot together at The Haven.”

“And Alyssa doesn’t get jealous,” Gavin teases.

I snort. “If you knew Alyssa… and if you knew the relationship she and Brody have together, you’d never ask that.”

“So, Brody is like your best friend?”

“No. I don’t have one of those, but he’s probably my closest.”

“The one that knows all your secrets?” Gavin asks as he turns to me for a brief glance.

“He knows one,” I tell him mysteriously.

“Hmmm,” Gavin says as he strokes a finger over his chin. “Are you going to share with me?”

“Maybe one day… but not today,” I tell him firmly.

We reach the 440 beltline and I point to Gavin to take the second exit that will have us heading back east. Traffic is light, and he smoothly transitions onto the highway. I watch as he flicks the gearshift. As he speeds up, he uses his fingers to pull at a paddle behind the steering wheel.

“What are you doing?” I ask with interest, because the engine revs louder with each pull on the paddle.

“I’m in manual mode now. These paddles are gear shifters,” he says as the car leaps forward when he shifts again.

I can feel the vibration of the engine through the creamy, leather seats and hear it scream in abandon as the car surges forward. He moves us into the far left lane and we fly past the other traffic that seems to be standing still.

“Why use the paddles to shift if the car does it automatically for you?” I ask as I watch him shift up and then down again when he slows to a more reasonable speed.

He turns his head to look at me, rolling his eyes in the process. “You’re a woman. What could you possibly understand about a V8 Ferrari-built engine that goes zero to sixty in five seconds flat?”