Page 12 of Menace in Vegas

I scowl. "Not happening."

Her grin gets wider. "Scared I’ll wreck it?"

"Yes."

She smirks. "Scared I’ll kill us both?"

"Yes."

She shrugs, stepping toward the driver’s side. "I’m a good driver.”

I saw the way she tore through traffic when I followed her to the B&B.

She absolutely is not fucking driving.

Before she can open the door, I snatch the keys from her hand. "Oh, hell no," I growl.

She gasps, fake-offended. "Excuse me? I can drive.”

I stare at her. "I’ve seen you parallel park, Allie."

Her smile doesn’t waver. "What’s your point?"

"My point is, I value my fucking life."

"Aww," she coos, patting my chest like I’m an upset toddler. "Look at my big, tough hockey player about to drive a Barbie car."

I swear to God.

As annoyed as I am, I still notice the way my heart pounds when she says “my.”

God, I want to be hers so fucking bad.

I rip the driver’s side door open and drop into the seat.

Instant regret.

The steering wheel is practically in my lap. My knees are jammed into the dash.

I can’t move.

"Fuck," I mutter, adjusting the seat.

Allie snorts as she gets in the poor excuse for a car, covering her mouth with her hand. "You okay there, big guy?"

I grip the steering wheel like I might rip it off the column.

Just drive, Connor.

I start the car. The engine literally purrs like a damn kitten.

Allie gasps like she just found a lost puppy. “Oh my God. She purrs.” She claps her hands in delight. “I’m naming her petal.”

My head snaps toward her. “You’re what?”

She beams. “Petal. It suits her. Soft, sweet, kind of a bad bitch.”

I blink slowly, praying for strength. “I’mnotdriving a car named Petal.”

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