Page 68 of Ice Me Out

“Probably a little bit of both, so get your ass out here, Vera, before I park and come get you. We both know you don’t want that.”

“You’re impeding my education,” I said, wanting to rile him up a little bit.

“You’re impeding this shopping spree I planned on taking you on.”

“Say less. I’ll be there.”

I hung up and dashed back to the study room.

“Is everything okay?” Holden asked, worry darkening his features.

“I’m sorry to bail, guys, but I gotta go. Xander, will you send me your notes later?” I asked, shoving my notebook and textbook into my backpack. I didn’t even bother to put my pens and highlighters back in my pencil case; I threw them into my backpack in a rush.

“Sure. But—”

I was out the door before anyone could stop me, and I rushed through the aisles filled with stressed, overwhelmed young adults cramming for tests tomorrow and Friday.

The Bronco idled in the parking lot, gleaming from its recent detail. Hart rolled the window down as I approached and said, “Get in, loser. We’re going shopping.”

Any annoyance I had from him interrupting my study session fled, and I tried to hide my smile. Only Hart could have me grinning like a fool.

“You’re such a weirdo,” I teased, climbing into the truck. I ditched my backpack on the floor between my feet and was about to put on my seatbelt when Hart gripped the front of my hoodie and jerked me across the console.

A curse flew out of my mouth from the unexpected manhandling, but a moment later, I was melting against the console as his lips moved against mine.

“I’ve been called worse,” he said against my lips before nipping them softly and releasing me.

“I don’t doubt it. Where are we going?” I asked, catching my breath and buckling my seatbelt.

“Portland,” he answered, pulling away from the curb.

“Portland?” I parroted in disbelief.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why are we going all the way to Portland?”

He shot me a skeptical look, then focused on the road.

“Come on, Sugar. You’re smarter than that.”

I reached for the iced coffee in the passenger cup holder and took a long sip.

“No sales tax,” I answered after the first shot of caffeine hit my system.

“You got it. I don’t mind driving a few hours to save a few thousand.”

“A few thousand? What’s my budget? By the way, thanks for this,” I said, shaking the drink. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re welcome, Sugar. Your spending money is in the glove box,” he said, merging onto the congested highway.

I opened the box and pulled out a hefty bank bag, dropping it into my lap. I unzipped it and gawked at the banded bills.

“Um… Sweet Hart? How much is in here?”

“Fifty,” he answered casually as if he hadn’t dropped over $100 grand on me since meeting a week ago. First, it was my $40k fee, the $22k PRS, and now $50k to blow at the mall. I wasn’t complaining because I’d never snub my nose at a man who wanted to spoil me, but Hart would start receiving some frantic calls from his accountant if he kept it up.

“You’re too generous, Sweet Hart,” I said graciously.