Desiree
Junior’s on edge as I pull out onto the street. One hand clutches the car door handle, one is balled in a fist on his lap. I g*n it, to test how fast it takes off and we sail into traffic.
I drive like I’m in a car race—because when else will I get to drive a car like this?
It takes a few minutes, but Junior starts to relax. His fist unclenches and he stops watching the road like something terrible is about to happen.
“Nice driving, doll.” He sounds surprised. Impressed, even.
I grin at him. “What? You didn’t think a woman could handle a car like this?”
His lips quirk. “You don’t get to drive my car and bust my balls, sugar.”
I love when he gets bossy with me. It does something hot and tingly to my whole body.
“I told you I don’t let anyone drive this car. Ever. Consider yo
