In Your Dreams

The Lamborghini

Author here! Just letting any of you newbies to my stories know that I update at least once a week and almost always finish my stories--like this one! It's finished. Just going to be posting up the chapters as I edit it. ENJOY! 

His Lamborghini's seat conformed to my body as though it were made for it, as a billion-dollar car's seat would. The contours of the interior were lost on me, however, as my attention was too the man sliding into the driver's seat next to me. We had a destination. A bank? Either way, there we had a mutual friend who had arranged a meeting with us.

Somehow, with sheer, stagnant memory, I knew why.

"Mary's lost a bet, so she's going to force you to marry her," I said, smirking.

Because the man starting up the ignition, even as he gave me a flat, disinterested side glance, would have had any woman ready to be his bride. Against the vague background of a black leather and blue interior, I saw his face clearly, or rather, the serious, sharp sky blue eyes perfectly framed by dark, styled bangs.

He turned back to the road, already driving down streets that blurred at the edges of my attention. He rarely smiled, and his straight mouth straightened even more, unamused.

"Or rather, she's going to be forced to marry you, as an excuse, though quite happily," I said, and I knew, just as I knew his straight mouth never smiled, that he saw how distasteful he really was beneath the beautiful face.

After all, that's how all the stories went. No man could be so successful, so brilliant, so beautiful, and still be unspoiled underneath.

The square, gold-rimmed bank building rose like a whale from the ambivalent city streets. He pulled to the other side of the street and parked. A part of me wondered why he wasn't driving away or fighting back. He didn't like these people. He didn't like anyone. So why were we still meeting with these friends?

Wait...why were we friends?

My heart gave a warm throb.

"Personally," I said, keeping the smirk on, keeping it casual, afraid of scaring away this fearless god of a man. "I think you're OCD prudeness is hilarious."

Because a memory had come to me from the abstract, just as the bank had risen from the gray city.

A doorman at the front desk of one of his companies with a ruffled shirt, had sneezed straight into his face. Despite his apologies, my handsome companion stiffened like an English nanny faced with a room of disobedient, muddy children and said leave and never come back.

But, somehow, as though I had been watching TV, I then saw the cruel CEO at the roof of his building, leaning against the giant A/C units, pale and lip bit at the thought of what might have happened should he let such a worker stay. Any sane person would have said someone with a cold wearing a wrinkled shirt ruining a company almost too big to fail was laughable. But this man, the one with the unsmiling mouth and sharp blue eyes, he panicked over little things like that. He panicked, and ran to the roof of skyscrapers to regain his demeanor in order to control the paranoid insanity that was him.

And he stared at me now, as though seeing the same footage playing in my mind's eye. The sculpted face had gone slack, his sharp eyes widening.

"You think I'm...funny?"

The words were an impression. I heard, yet whether his voice was low or high, I didn't know, as was often the case with my dreams.

I couldn't help my smirk from widening into a full-blown smile.

"Incredibly." I kicked back and put my feet on the dashboard, hoping to irritate him enough to be a tease. But even as I did it, I could see he didn't notice. Somehow, the OCD god could care less.

I couldn't help but adore how fragile this impregnable being was.

"Come on, Basil," I said. "Let's blow this taco stand."

He flicked on the turn signal and pulled back out onto the empty street.