I sank back into the luxuriously soft black leather of the blue McLaren, marvelling at the flashy accessory that a few weeks ago I would never have imagined I’d sit in.
‘Your car is gorgeous’ I breathed as I ran my finger along the interior, trying to hold myself back from pushing any of the buttons that were on the centre console between us.
Archer shrugged, ‘gift from my dad, he likes to show his generosity’ he muttered, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel.
Falling into silence, I continued to enjoy the comfort of the vehicle as Archer drove us to wherever we were going.
It took thirty minutes to get to our destination, and I was slightly shocked as we stopped in front of a 1960’s diner that had waitresses roller skating between the cars, trays balanced on their palms
