Rich People Problems

xv | yes, mommy

KIMBERLY

"HOW DO YOU manage to look overdressed in denim?" Jace questioned, leaning against the hood of his Aston Martin.

I looked down at my outfit, realizing he had a point.

I was wearing high-waisted, light denim shorts paired with a long-sleeved white corset top. But, unlike my other outfits, this top covered most of my chest and only exposed my collarbone.

I didn't think it was too over-the-top. Okay, maybe the body chain peeking through the top was a bit too much. But, in its defense, it looked cute and tied the entire outfit together. Plus, I needed some spice to the otherwise plain outfit.

My white sandals were also more casual than my typical heels. The only thing that stood out was my red lip, but I had to keep it on. It was a Kimberly-classic.

Rolling my eyes, I snapped at him, making my way to the passenger door. "Get used to it. You're marrying someone who isn't really known for her subtlety." I pushed my sunglasses down to look at him. "In fact, didn't you make a comment about my 'subtlety' a couple of weeks back?"

The realization sparked in his eyes, as he opened the door for me to get in.

"I had a point then and a point now," he retorted.

I took the time to look at him, realizing that our outfits were a different execution of a similar concept. Instead of a white shirt and light denim, he was wearing a black shirt and dark-washed jeans.

It was the middle of August and the heat was coming down at full force. I don't know how he was surviving in those jeans and black shirt, but I wasn't complaining.

The definition of his broad shoulders in the shirt and his exposed arms were enough to keep me visually satisfied. I was glad we made up—or whatever what happened was called—because it took away some of the tension.

My eyes had a mind of their own when it came to Jace and an involuntary roll slipped out as I sat inside. The second he shut my door, he made his way over to the other side. His large physique, once again, completely obliterated any room for breathing and my mind fluttered to what happened last night.

For the hundredth time since we met, I fell asleep to the feeling of his hands all over me, pleasuring me in ways I haven't felt in so long.

A blush threatened to come out, so I mentally changed the subject. "Where are we going again?" I knew he said we were visiting his mom, but it just occurred to me that I had no idea where he grew up.

"Philadelphia." I mentally did the calculations and realized we were looking at—at least—a two-hour drive.

Oh fuck.

Nodding, I asked another question. "Did you like growing up in Philly?" I'd only been there a few times, but it seemed nice enough.

"There's nothing to not like about it." Would it kill him to answer my questions normally?

"Yes."

My head snapped to him and I realized I said that aloud. That never happened to me. He was already messing up my brain beyond measure. "I have a question."

"You always do," he muttered.

Ignoring him, I continued, "How do you look like that?"

"Well," his sarcastic tone made me wary. "Almost twenty-nine years ago, my mom and Alex decided to procreate."

I could feel my left eye start twitching in anger. "There's a reason I said what I said. You don't take my questions seriously."

"What do you want me to say?" he snapped. "It's not like your question wasn't ambiguous."