I watched Anya's fingers slide into his. "You want to drive me home," she repeated.
"Very much."
"Both of us," I said. My voice came out thicker than I intended. "She means both of us. I need a ride too."
"Of course."
"I'm calling you a car." Declan was still there. "In fact, I'm calling you three cars—"
"We don't need your cars," Anya snapped. "You have a nice car, right?"
"I have a very nice car." The man was already guiding Anya toward the elevator, one hand on the small of her back.
The elevator ride down was a blur. Anya was pressed against Marco's side, his arm around her waist, her hand already playing with the collar of his shirt.
The Maserati was waiting at the curb when we emerged. Midnight blue, gleaming under the streetlights.
He opened the back door for me. "You ok
