Page 144 of Papa's Bébé


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“Not happening, Spitfire,” he told her. “Unless I’m impaired in some way, if my ass is in a car, I’m driving.”

“Why? Because you’re a man?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“That’s . . . that’s so sexist!”

“Call it what you like, but my parents raised me this way.”

“Well, maybe I should take this up with them.”

“Good luck, they’re dead.”

Shit.

That took the wind completely out of her sails. She gaped at him. Maya had no idea what to say to that.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“No,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that the way I did. My parents died seven years ago in a car accident. We were close and it did hit me hard. I shouldn’t have been so flippant. However, I wasn’t joking before. If I’m in a car, I’m driving. No matter whose car it is.”

Well, she could hardly argue after he’d revealed that, could she?

Maya climbed into the passenger seat and did up her belt. She realized that was the first piece of real information he’d given her about himself.

As he backed out of the driveway, she snuck looks at him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“How old are you?”

His lips quirked. It was getting easier to look at him as long as she didn’t overload her brain.

“Thirty-nine.”

“Wow, that’s a lot older than I thought.”

‘Thanks,” he said dryly.

“Um, sorry. I just meant that you don’t look that old. Do you want to know how old I am?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Uh, right. Guess you had that information.” How much information did he have on her?

She turned back to look at the animals. Berry and Tank were in the very back, but Matthieu had opened all of the windows slightly so that they could experience all of the scents.

Tank actually looked happier. That tight knot in her stomach eased slightly.

Although she was still worried that she wasn’t the best person to look after him.

Turning back, she glanced at Matthieu again. Maybe she should ask more questions about him.

“Have you always done this?” she asked as she wondered where they were going. She’d noticed that he’d brought a picnic basket. It had been her mom’s picnic basket and she’d never brought herself to use it.

“Driven around a woman, three dogs, and an overweight pig? Nope. Can’t say that I have.”

“Hey, Big B isn’t overweight. She’s a pig. She’s meant to be a little bit . . . chunky.”