“Where did you park?” Ronan asks, as we step out into the parking lot. I cringe softly as I shake my head. “I walked here.” “You walked?” he scoffs. He looks down at me, towering over me by nearly a foot before he shakes his head. “C’mon,” he says as he hits his key fob, unlocking a sleek, black BMW. I don’t follow him, weighing my options. I probably shouldn’t ride with him. Having lunch with him was bad enough, right? Then again, my feet are practically begging me to say yes because I can’t imagine walking another fifty steps, let alone miles. “Please,” Ronan adds from the side of the car.
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