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breath. “I have a pretty good idea.”
    “I just hope that jerk isn’t taking advantage of her.”
    Jake turned back toward the court watching as Summer patted herself with a towel. “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Vitalie. This engagement between Geoffrey and Summer—do you think he loves her?”
    Anston chuckled, his gaze meeting Jake’s. “I think he loves what she’s worth.”
    ***
    “So how did I look?” Summer beamed, throwing her bag in to the trunk of her cherry-red Porsche. She tossed Jake the keys then slid into the passenger side.
    “Not bad.”
    “Not bad! Jake, it was awesome.”
    “How does your arm feel?”
    She wanted to say “great” but she’d be lying. Unzipping the front of her white sweat jacket, she reached up and rubbed her left shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t expect too much on the first day, right?”
    “Healing takes time,” he replied. “Got to be patient.”
    He said it like he knew. She glanced at his arm and the scars exposed below the short sleeve. “Thanks for driving,” she finally said. “I haven’t played in a while and I am sort of tired.”
    “No problem. Actually, I’m kind of psyched. It’s not everyday I get to drive a Porsche with a three point six, sixty-eight-hundred horse power engine. You were smart to go with a six-speed manual overdrive instead of the five-speed automatic. Way more efficient.”
    “I liked it because it was red,” she corrected “and I don’t speak your language.”
    He licked his lips and pulled his sunglasses up to his head. “I should have known a classy girl like you isn’t fluent in grease monkey. So what kind of fuel do you use?”
    “The kind that makes the car go,” she answered as if it were a question. Leaning toward him, she turned up the air conditioning.
    “Not full blast!” he cautioned. “It taxes the engine.”
    She leaned back in her seat, watching him drum his fingers on the wheel with one hand while he leaned against the door with the other. “Okay, I have to ask,” she blurted when curiosity got the best of her. “How would someone like you know all this stuff about cars?
    “What do you mean?”
    She pulled at his Ralph Lauren T-shirt. “You certainly don’t look like a mechanic to me.”
    He cheeks reddened with a smile. “I don’t know. I drive them. I ride in them. I just thought they were worth finding out about. So do you use regular unleaded or premium fuel? Say regular and break my heart.”
    “Do I look like someone who pumps her own gas?”
    “You know, you should really use premium with an engine like this. Even if you don’t run the car on the track, it needs the premium. It keeps the insides clean.”
    “Why does it matter?”
    He slid his hands around the steering wheel, pushing back against the seat. “Okay, let me put it in terms you would understand. Would you use generic shampoo to wash that hair of yours, or would you prefer the high-end, expensive imported stuff from Europe?”
    “Those are my only two choices?”
    “But you get my point, right? High performance things deserve high maintenance.”
    “So I deserve premium fuel. Is that what you mean?”
    “Exactly. Which is why I would like to invite you to my place for dinner.”
    There was the charm again. She swallowed a giggle and raised a brow. “Do you cook?”
    “No, but I do know how to dial a phone.”
    “Smart ass,” she laughed, then smacked him on the shoulder. ”Don’t worry. I mean that in a good way.”
    “Thanks, I think.”
    “No really,” she insisted. “I forgot ho w much fun it was to be funny.”
    “Well said.”
    “I mean it.” She leaned against the door and angled her body toward him. “I really had a lot of fun today. I’m playing tennis again and I have you to thank for that.” She reached out placing her hand over his on the gearshift. “Maybe you’re not such as bad guy after all.”
    His cheek wrinkled around his mouth when he smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She