The-Spanish-Love-Deception-www.indianpdf

attention to the road.
“What?” I shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll have you know that someone
auctioned a dirty pair of undies Elvis had worn to a concert in the ’70s.”
I watched Aaron’s head shake. Mr. Proper was probably scandalized, but
he was still not talking, so I kept filling in the silence.
“Chill. Nobody bought them.” I studied his profile for any reaction. Still
nothing. “Or bid for them,” I corrected myself. “I don’t know much, if
anything, about auctions.” More silence. O-kay. “But the conclusion was that,
apparently, no one wanted Elvis’s used underwear.” I snickered. “Which,
frankly, it sort of strengthened my faith in society. Not all is lost yet, right?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
“Who would want to own something like that? And what’s even more
daunting, what for? To frame it?” A grimace bent my lips. “Imagine being
invited to a home and finding a dirty pair of underwear framed, hanging
above the sofa. Or the toilet.”
Aaron shot me a quick glance, something that looked a lot like wonder
filling his eyes. Then, he finally spoke, “I never know with you, you know?”
And that’s what he decided to go with?
“You never know what?” Frowning, I watched his head give another light
shake.
“I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” His voice
sounded almost thoughtful. “You always find a way to catch me completely
off guard. And that’s not something many people can do.”
Uh …
What was I supposed to do with that? Was that … a compliment? I had
been rambling about Elvis’s used underwear hanging in somebody’s living
room, so I was going to go with no. Not a compliment. Plus, this was Aaron
we were talking about, so double no.
“Well, I have more fun facts for you, if that’s what you want,” I offered
with a smile. “Of all kinds, not only underwear-related.”
“Of course you do,” he muttered.
“Unless you want to use this precious time to, I don’t know, give me
some kind of context about tonight.” I waited one, two, three seconds. Once
more, he seemed to fall silent when I asked. “You could maybe explain to me
why I’m here, pretending to be your date. That’s a good start.”
His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter; it was hard to miss
because, well, I had been carefully watching him for the last couple of