is everything!”
“Well, I’m the customer and I say cut the bullshit. Let’s get in and out of the next store in fifteen minutes. What do you say?”
“Bullshit? You… that is… horrible! You may be the customer but if you act like an asshole, don’t be surprised if—”
“Did you just call me an asshole? Again? You know, Luke… I don’t think that’s good customer service,” he taunted me playfully.
I stopped at a red light and looked at Michael’s handsome profile. He caught my stare and flashed a megawatt beautiful grin that took my breath away. I forgot what our banter had been about until he chuckled and asked me what color traffic light I was waiting for.
“You are an asshole.”
Michael laughed again. This time it was unfettered and musical. I hid a small smile as I maneuvered the car toward our next destination.
N ATURALLY , THE freeway was a bumper-to-bumper nightmare. We visited two more showrooms and were finally headed back to his house by midafternoon. I adjusted the radio and hummed along to “Like a Prayer” as I tried to jockey for lane position behind a semitruck.
“You like this song?”
“Of course! Don’t tell me you don’t like Madonna.” I gave him a quick sideways stare over the top of my sunglasses. “Don’t,” I warned.
“‘Don’t’ as in you’ll kick my ugly ass out of your car if I dare say a word against the queen of pop?” His tone was laced with amusement.
“I wouldn’t say you’re ugly but yeah, if I had a place to drop you off in this godforsaken mess of freeway, I might be tempted. So watch it, buddy.”
“Wow. You’re kinda fierce. Is she your favorite, or do I have to be careful about what I say about Cher too?”
“Are you musically stereotyping me? Luke’s gay so he must like Cher, Madonna, and Christina?” I switched lanes, conscientiously keeping my gaze on the congested road although I was dying to see Michael’s expression.
“Well do you?”
“Yes, of course, but—
Michael laughed out loud. I waited a minute, letting him enjoy himself at my expense.
“Are you finished? Plenty of straight men like them too, you know.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he singsonged.
“Oh shut up. I’m not switching my tunes. My car, my music. But because I’m polite I’ll ask for the sake of conversation. What kind of music do you like?”
“I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way. You should have asked me that question when I first got in the car and then insisted on playing traditional mariachi music because I love it.” His voice was full of mocking righteous indignation. He was obviously enjoying himself.
“Sorry. Client privileges only extend so far. Not to in-car entertainment. And as far as mariachi music is concerned, you better make damn sure you’re offering tequila shots to go along with that sh—um… music.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath and from the corner of my eye saw Michael turn as much as possible in his seat to face me with his arms folded across his chest. His dark glasses covered his eyes, but it didn’t take a genius to know his glare was scornful.
“Sh—? Please don’t tell me you were going to say shit and insult my heritage and my family honor.”
I bit my bottom lip in an effort to keep from chuckling at his act. There was nothing more attractive to me than a guy with a good sense of humor. At least I hoped he was joking. I took a quick peek in his direction to find him still holding his pose and staring me down evilly.
“I would never impugn your proud heritage. How dare you even suggest such a thing? I think you’re trying to take attention from your earlier show of disrespect toward the fine female songstresses I’ve been playing for you today. I’ll have none of that.” I weaved my head back and forth in a way I’d seen Brandon do with flair countless times. My attempts at a sassy head bob usually made Bran roll his eyes, so I was certain I looked goofy rather than
“Well, I’m the customer and I say cut the bullshit. Let’s get in and out of the next store in fifteen minutes. What do you say?”
“Bullshit? You… that is… horrible! You may be the customer but if you act like an asshole, don’t be surprised if—”
“Did you just call me an asshole? Again? You know, Luke… I don’t think that’s good customer service,” he taunted me playfully.
I stopped at a red light and looked at Michael’s handsome profile. He caught my stare and flashed a megawatt beautiful grin that took my breath away. I forgot what our banter had been about until he chuckled and asked me what color traffic light I was waiting for.
“You are an asshole.”
Michael laughed again. This time it was unfettered and musical. I hid a small smile as I maneuvered the car toward our next destination.
N ATURALLY , THE freeway was a bumper-to-bumper nightmare. We visited two more showrooms and were finally headed back to his house by midafternoon. I adjusted the radio and hummed along to “Like a Prayer” as I tried to jockey for lane position behind a semitruck.
“You like this song?”
“Of course! Don’t tell me you don’t like Madonna.” I gave him a quick sideways stare over the top of my sunglasses. “Don’t,” I warned.
“‘Don’t’ as in you’ll kick my ugly ass out of your car if I dare say a word against the queen of pop?” His tone was laced with amusement.
“I wouldn’t say you’re ugly but yeah, if I had a place to drop you off in this godforsaken mess of freeway, I might be tempted. So watch it, buddy.”
“Wow. You’re kinda fierce. Is she your favorite, or do I have to be careful about what I say about Cher too?”
“Are you musically stereotyping me? Luke’s gay so he must like Cher, Madonna, and Christina?” I switched lanes, conscientiously keeping my gaze on the congested road although I was dying to see Michael’s expression.
“Well do you?”
“Yes, of course, but—
Michael laughed out loud. I waited a minute, letting him enjoy himself at my expense.
“Are you finished? Plenty of straight men like them too, you know.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he singsonged.
“Oh shut up. I’m not switching my tunes. My car, my music. But because I’m polite I’ll ask for the sake of conversation. What kind of music do you like?”
“I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way. You should have asked me that question when I first got in the car and then insisted on playing traditional mariachi music because I love it.” His voice was full of mocking righteous indignation. He was obviously enjoying himself.
“Sorry. Client privileges only extend so far. Not to in-car entertainment. And as far as mariachi music is concerned, you better make damn sure you’re offering tequila shots to go along with that sh—um… music.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath and from the corner of my eye saw Michael turn as much as possible in his seat to face me with his arms folded across his chest. His dark glasses covered his eyes, but it didn’t take a genius to know his glare was scornful.
“Sh—? Please don’t tell me you were going to say shit and insult my heritage and my family honor.”
I bit my bottom lip in an effort to keep from chuckling at his act. There was nothing more attractive to me than a guy with a good sense of humor. At least I hoped he was joking. I took a quick peek in his direction to find him still holding his pose and staring me down evilly.
“I would never impugn your proud heritage. How dare you even suggest such a thing? I think you’re trying to take attention from your earlier show of disrespect toward the fine female songstresses I’ve been playing for you today. I’ll have none of that.” I weaved my head back and forth in a way I’d seen Brandon do with flair countless times. My attempts at a sassy head bob usually made Bran roll his eyes, so I was certain I looked goofy rather than
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