Page 37 of One More Night
THIRTEEN
Corinne
The luxury of riding in Jordan’s Range Rover is one hell of an ego trip. I’ve never been an overly shallow person, but I can totally see how surrounding yourself in the finest of everything can steer a person toward a successful mindset.
He’s clearly comfortable with his lifestyle. One elbow slung out the open window, his hand casually wrapped around the steering wheel, and a relaxed stance with his legs wide as he drives us toward my apartment.
I suggested we take my car back so I could leave it there, but he insisted it would be safer at his place where it could be garaged properly. Regular car alarms in the early hours of the morning mean I can’t argue with that.
“How long have you been doing whatever it is you do?” I ask, twirling the end of a lock of my hair.
He glances across at me, before smirking as he returns his focus to the traffic we’re buried in. “You can’t get me to reveal information that easily.”
“Are you sure?” I make a point of looking at the car beside us out his window. “I did have a backup plan if you really needed convincing.”
Chase’s warning still sits in the back of my mind, flashing weakly like a beacon in the storm.
“You talk a big game, Corinne.”
“I thought you liked games?” I bite my lip, arching my back so my tits strain against his T-shirt.
He checks out the swell of my form in his periphery, and then sighs. “I like my games.”
“Have you always been an asshole?” I bet he was that kid in school who had to make up the rules or he wouldn’t play at all.
“My mother would say so.”
Ooo. Knowingly or not, he slipped. It’s the first personal thing I’ve heard him say.
“You know,” I remark casually, “I find it odd that Chase never mentioned you. Especially if you’ve kept in touch all these years.”
He wets his bottom lip before running it between his teeth. “You should ask him why that is.”
Touchy. “How long did you guys know each other before Chase’s birthday?”
“Most of school.”
“And again, I never saw you until then.”
“A lot of people elected not to see me.”
Interesting choice of words … “And yet you saw me,” I muse.
I wrack my brain, trying to remember more about that day. Like him, I’m stuck on what memories I did make. The quiet boy with the dark hair, and rough clothes. Rough clothes …
“Your family isn’t wealthy, are they?”
He flexes his fingers on the wheel as we start to move again. “They’re rich in their own way.”
“Not close then?”
“Is this what dinner’s going to be like?” he snaps, eyes hard on the car in front of us. “Because if it is, I can make sure I book somewhere with music so I can’t hear you.”
“Ever the gentleman,” I mutter, folding my arms.
So I hit a sore spot? Get over it.
“How many years did you let your uncle touch you before you found enough courage to tell your parents?”