Page 31 of Drive Me Crazy
“Call me lettuce one more time, Theo,” Lucas complains under his breath.
There’s no one who dislikes press conferences more than me, but for once I’m ready to get the show on the road. Anything to get Theo to stop bothering me about how it’s not “just dinner.” I’m not sure how many times I can repeat that it isjust dinner. It’s simply dinner with a friend who happens to make my dick throb uncomfortably.
I’ve all but forgotten about Theo’s insinuations as Ella and I are seated at dinner. The restaurant is small but stylish, bottles of wine lining the walls, black tablecloths and candlesdecorating the tables. It’s understated in just the right way. They don’t have a menu and the only thing they ask you is how you want your steak done. Simple. Ella’s in heaven since they have unlimited fries. Yeah, I now sometimes call them fries because of her.Whatever.
Despite the small menu, our waiter continues to stop by our table every ten minutes. I’m thoroughly enjoying the whiskey I’m drinking, but if he looks at Ella likethatone more time, I’m going to smash my glass over his head. Or maybe I’ll just break the glass and then use a shard to cut his dick off. I don’t mind getting creative. He’s eye-fucking her as if I’m not sitting right here. Even though she’s only a friend, so I have no right to get angry, it’s still impolite. I don’t blame him considering how turned on I get just from being around her—the chase or something like that—but that’s beside the point.
“Is everything to your liking?” he asks Ella, dutifully ignoring me. It takes everything in my power not to wipe the cocky smile right off his face with my fist.
“He’s flirting with you,” I comment after he leaves. “Big time.”
Ella scrunches up her nose. “He’s definitely not. He’s just being friendly.”
“Would you like to hear about ourdeliciousMontepulciano d’Abruzzo?” I mimic the waiter, deepening the pitch of my voice. “It’s got adeepcolor andjuicyflavors withsoft,suppletannins. It’ll absolutelydelightyou.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re crazy.”
The owner of the restaurant comes over to our table to greet us. I’ve been here before, and he remembers me. He takes an instant liking to Ella, who spends twenty minutes asking him about his life story. Journalism was the right career path for her given her thoughtful questions and genuine interest in his responses.
Halfway through dinner, Ella tells me she has areallyimportant question. Hesitantly, I nod. I’m never fully ready for any question she asks me. I quickly swallow a piece of steak, not wanting to choke on it in case the question catches me off guard.
Her eyes blaze with excitement. “Okay, what would your death-row meal be?”
Whatever I’d been expecting her to ask, I can assure you it wasn’t that. A shocked laugh escapes my lips, and once it does, I can’t hold back. I’m doubled over, my abs constricting as they do after an hour in the gym with Sam. When I finally get a hold of myself, Ella’s looking at me adorably. Her head’s tilted and her eyes twinkle with delight.
“You know what death row is, right?” Ella asks. “Like when they’re going to kill you because of your crimes?”
“Yes, Ella. I know what death row is. I’m British, not dumb.”
Ella makes atsk, tsknoise and shakes her head slowly. “After your race earlier, I have to disagree with you. Overtaking Lucas in lap fifty was extremely risky. Almost got you a five-second penalty and then you wouldn’t have placed podium. And what the hell was up with you boxing out Theo on lap twenty-two? Kind of a dick move.”
A minor flush creeps up my neck, threatening to make my pleasure at her words evident. There’s something so unbelievably sexy about Ella talking about the race. It may be her job, but I enjoy knowing that she keeps tabs on my progress throughout the circuit.
“A win’s a win.” I’m choosing to focus on that part versus her calling my driving dumb, which it absolutely was. Andreas had ripped me a new one on my radio during the race and then again after the champagne spray.
“Anyway, a death-row meal is essentially what you would choose as your last meal on Earth. Nothing is off the table. Butyou only get two appetizers, one main, two sides, one dessert, and two drinks. Well, those are the rules I follow, anyway.”
Hm, interesting. This is a question I can get behind. Although based on how Ella treats most of my snacks, I have no idea how harshly she’ll judge my meal. She gagged when I put pea protein powder in my smoothie. It’s not like I put sand in there.
“Oh, and although this isn’t a test, if you say La Croix, you’re automatically blacklisted in my book. Because it tastes like flavored static electricity and anyone who claims to like it is a liar.”
I snort as I contemplate my options. Shit, this is harder than I thought it’d be.
“And—”
Groaning, I push a hand over my face. “Are you going to give me a moment of silence to think?”
“Just one last thing! Promise.” She pauses dramatically before lowering her voice. “You can’t saypussy.” Her cheeks flush adorably. “That’s not a valid answer for a death-row meal.”
The water I’m drinking sprays out of my mouth. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a wildly dirty mouth?”
“Nope. I’ve never even had a cavity.”
“Who in the hell said that as their death-row answer?”
I bet it was her friend Jack.Cocksucker.
Her nose crinkles at the question. “You don’t want to know.”
