Page 60 of Drive Me Crazy
“It is your grandma’s recipe, by the way.”
The chip drops out of her mouth and onto the plate. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her face changes rapidly from surprise to confusion, not staying on one for too long before jumping to the other.
“What? How?”
“I asked.” I’m enjoying this way too much. “Your mum requested me on Facebook a while back and I accepted. I sent her a message asking for it.”
Mrs. Gold didn’t believe it was me. I guess Ella told her there was no way it was my real Facebook, so when I asked for the recipe via messenger, she wanted proof it was actuallytheBlake Hollis. So we FaceTimed. I spent about thirty minutes explaining what an idiot I’d been and once she seemed satisfied that I was serious about Ella, she gave me the recipe.
“I seriously can’t believe you did all of this.”
“Believe it, baby.” I grin, undisguised charm weaving its way through my words. “I’m down to finish dinner, but can wetake the dessert to go? I can think of a few more ways to show you how sorry I am.”
Her bubbly laugh vibrates through the otherwise quiet room. It sends a burst of warmth straight through my veins. If I could mainline the sound, I’d happily stay high for the rest of my life.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ella
IF YOU’D TOLD me four hours ago that instead of ordering room service for dinner I’d be eating one of my death-row meals with an unfairly attractive Formula 1 driver … I’d question your sanity. Or ask if you were dropped on your head as a child. Or if you were taking recreational hallucinogenic drugs. So yeah, it’s been an interesting—but very welcome—turn of events, to say the least.
“Ella?”
I’m completely spacing out. Busted. “Hm?”
“I asked if you wanted to come up to my room.” He tilts his head before grimacing. “But that doesn’t sound great, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agree before adding, “But yes, I will.”
Blake aggressively pushes the up button, willing the elevator to come faster. When it arrives, I’m practically dragged on, my feet barely touching the floor. As soon as the doors close, his lips mesh with mine. There’s no rush as we hum into the kiss, both of us wanting more, but biding our time.
When the doors open, we’re breathless. I blindly followBlake, letting him lead me to his room. My mind is in over-drive realizing what’s about to happen. I started off my night in bed, by myself, while wearing pajamas. I’ll be ending my night in bed, with Blake, while naked. I’m so nervous I could puke.
“Are you okay?” Blake stops in the middle of the hallway, planting his feet on the ground. “You’re being quiet.”
His voice is extremely loud, carrying down the hallway. Quickly untangling our fingers in frustration, I glare at him. “Shh! People are sleeping.”
“I don’t care.” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice. “What are you thinking about?”
Uhhhhhhh.“How Rihanna hasn’t released an album in about six years.”
Before I can stop him, Blake picks me up and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I let out a surprised yelp and smack his backside in protest as blood rushes to my head. He ignores me and walks down the hallway.
Only when we’re in the security of his room does he toss me carefully onto the bed like he’s scared of breaking me, which is obnoxiously hot as hell. I immediately sit up, the glare still ever-present on my face.
“Well?” He waits expectantly as his light brown eyes search mine.
“You’ve slept with models who look like real-life Greek goddesses.”
It’s not a question, it’s a statement. He looks mildly panicked; like I’m trying to trap him and he’s going to get in trouble no matter what he says or does. Blake opens and closes his mouth. To be honest, I don’t know what I’d say to me either.
“And you’ve had sex with enough people to fill the House of Representatives,” I add.
What the fuck?I don’t even know where that came from.
“I’mBritish.” He sits down on the bed next to me. “I don’t know how many people are in the House of Representatives.”
I’m American and neither do I.
