“I’m not taking the most beautiful girl of the night to the social event of the year in a fucking Honda Accord.” “What’s wrong with a Honda Accord?” I ask as a flurry of butterflies dances across my rib cage. “I drive one.” Rowan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “No, you don’t. You drive a silver BMW 3 Series.” “Stalker.” “You’re overdue for an oil change, by the way.” “Am not.” “Liar. The car has literally been telling you Change my fucking oil, you heathen for the last three weeks.”
