MAVERICK
We arrived at the car dealer. Of course, everyone knew him.
“Mr. Winston, we have something new that you might like,” said the man with a broad smile.
“Not for me.” Lake didn’t let go of my hand. “For my wife.”
My face flamed. Shit. I should get used to it.
“Wife?” Even the dealer looked surprised. Now, I just became the person I loathed. “Congratulations.”
“Maverick, pick a car so that we can eat.” Just like that—it was like shopping for a toy car or going to a grocery store to buy a carton of milk.
“You know what, pick one for me.”