Page 26 of Elite Player
Finally, I blink, set back on my heels. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls them up his forearms then undoes the top two on his shirt placket. “I won’t do it again.”
I honestly can’t remember the last time someone apologized to me. Growing up, I had my feelings trampled on, and while I’d like to think I’ve become immune to my family’s put-downs, it hurts every time, and while Nico’s intentions might be good, it still feels the same. Like he doesn’t care about me.
So for him to easily admit to his mistake, I don’t know if I can believe it.
“You all right?” he asks, and I nod, a little shakily.
“I’m surprised.”
“That I apologized?” He huffs. Not in his cute, amused way. But in an unusually perturbed way. “You need to start expecting people to treat you better. Saying sorry for hurtingyour feelings is the very least I can do, so don’t let me off the hook that easy.”
He combs his fingers through his still-wet hair then places his well-worn cap backward on his head. It’s the same one he wears all the time, his WHL team, with an adjustable band. A hank of his dark blond hair pokes out the front, and it’s frustratingly adorable. Particularly because I’m mad at him.
When he moves toward the front seat, I stop him. “Let me drive.”
He freezes and slowly turns his head. “What?”
I ignore how handsome he is, even with the slack-jawed look on his face, and tell him. “This is me not letting you off the hook that easy. Your penance is to let me drive your car.”
“You don’t know how to drive.”
“Yes, I do.”
“But you don’t drive. You don’t have a car.”
“Yeah, because cars are expensive, and I don’t need one to get around the city. But I know how to drive, and I want to drive yours.”
“It’s manual.”
“Perfect.”
He raises his brows, so I raise mine right back at him, and when it becomes clear I’m not joking, he opens the driver’s side door for me. “Your chariot, my lady.”
I hold my chin up high as I drop down into the luxurious leather seats. Nico doesn’t say a word as he sits next to me, remains quiet as I adjust my seat and the mirrors, and continues his silence as I reverse out of the spot and pull onto the road without any problem. It’s only once I’m past the first light and weaving onto a two-lane road, shifting gears, that he blows out an audible breath.
“Kinda turns me on to watch you drive.”
“I’d assume a spring breeze turns you on.”
“If it accidentally flipped up a sundress, absolutely.”
I refuse to give in to a smile as I downshift, and out of thecorner of my eye, I notice him lean against the door, angling his body my way. “It’s superhot how you handle the stick.”
“Oh my god, Nico.”
“Yeah. Say my name like that.”
I can’t deny that his low, rumbled words send goose bumps down my arms, but he’ll never know it with my sweatshirt on and I’ll never confess that to him. It would only inflate his ego.
“You can’t be that easy,” I say, coming to a stop at a red light.
“I can.”
I turn to him. “Is that why you go home with so many girls? You like the way they drive?”
“No one else has driven my car except for you.” My stomach swoops, and I press my hand against it as he goes on. “But I really am that easy. I’m not very picky.”
