Jake smirked, “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t ya darlin’?”
Molly pressed her lips together in annoyance, then blurted, “Look, Jake, I’m sure you’re a very nice person, but I’ve met plenty of guys like you before. I’ve even dated some of them. So, yeah, I can say with confidence that I know exactly what your deal is.” She shrugged dismissively. God, she sounded like a shrew, but it had to be done. Better that she not lead him on and give him any untenable ideas about her.
“Is that so?” Jake arched one quizzical brow at her, then looked back to the road. One casual hand was draped across the top of his steering wheel, and the other rested on his gearshift, disconcertingly close to her thigh.
“Lemme guess—I’m a spoiled frat guy raising hell with Daddy’s money, leaving a trail of roofies and broken hearts in my self-absorbed wake. That about cover it?”
Whoa. He was good. “Pretty much,” Molly agreed, feeling defensive. But given how badly she’d just insulted him, she couldn’t quite figure out what he found so entertaining.
“Well, I am also confident that I’ve got your number,” Jake told her, glancing over again. Could eyes dance? Because his baby-blues appeared to be dancing. At minimum, they were annoyingly sparkly.
“Please,” Molly scoffed. “You don’t know anything about me.” She hoped.