Sarah leaped out onto the driveway. She put her hands over her face, giggling loudly. Bent, being too proud, sat motionless in the driver’s seat. He looked beyond furious…with her and with himself. His expression was a mix of resentment and disbelief. They both knew, at least at that moment, she had won. Using her charms alone, she’d manipulated and overpowered him completely, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. And he couldn’t stand it. Bent would never admit that she’d beaten him, though. Mr. Perfect could never be wrong. It wasn’t in his nature. He finally dragged himself out of his sports car, hauling his duffle bag over his shoulder. Ignoring her, he strode swiftly across the driveway towards his double front doors. When Sarah realized where he was going, she stopped giggling. She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot. “Um, excuse me, Mr. Prince?” She’d ALWAYS wanted to address him that way without sounding ridiculous. And now was the perfect opportunity. “I need to go home…to MY house,” she said. She glared daggers at his incredibly muscular back. She knew he could feel her eyes watching him. Bent paused on the doorstep. After a moment, without even turning around, he yelled back to her. “You’re staying here.” Sarah gaped at him, perplexed. “But-but?” She glanced over her shoulder to his black sports car, and then back to him. To her surprise, Bent had already disappeared inside the house. Sarah, now somewhat dazed, walked like a zombie to the back of his sports car to retrieve her bags. She saw that Bad Boy had already popped open the trunk for her. Instinctively, she knew the sports car wouldn’t dare take her home against Bent’s orders. She was most definitely stuck here now…with the boy with the beautiful name. Grabbing her bags, she started to head towards the house. But then a thought struck her. She spun back around to face the car. “Does Bent hate me?” she asked. The sports car’s engine rumbled. “No,” its electronic voice replied. She breathed a sigh of relief. Checking to make sure Bent hadn’t decided to come back outside, she leaned closer to the car and whispered, “Does he like me at all?” “Yes,” the sports car quickly answered. Sarah’s heart felt like it was about to pop out of her chest. Bad Boy couldn’t have said ANYTHING else to make her happier. “How much does he like me?” she asked, smiling. She felt like she was floating away on a big fluffy cloud. “That’s for Mr. Prince to decide,” the sports car said. Sarah’s face fell. So that was it then. The sports car wasn’t going to reveal any of Bent’s true feelings. Bent may not have any real feelings for you, though, she thought glumly. His sports car may just be protecting your ego to keep you from being sad. “Thank you for not telling Bent I was hiding in the backseat,” Sarah said. “That was…um…really cool of you. You’re a cool guy…I mean car…machine thing.” It was strange. But it almost sounded like the sports car laughed.