Chapter 12: Tacos Date

I pulled into the high-rise’s underground residential garage, the engine’s deep, mechanical rumble echoing off the concrete walls before I finally cut the ignition.

I stepped out, shut the door with a satisfying thud, and leaned back against a pillar, just taking a moment to appreciate the sharp carbon-fiber curves and pristine finish of the machine sitting right in front of me.

"Are you ever going to stop buying things?"

I turned around to see Chloe walking into the garage from the private elevator hall. She had changed into one of her new designer pieces—an oversized, ultra-soft cream sweater that hung off one shoulder, paired with tailored pants and her hair styled casually. She was holding an open notebook, looking like a high-fashion, effortless academic, reading as she walked.

Then she raised her head, and her eyes landed squarely on the sleek, dark monster parked next to me.

The notebook slipped in her grip, almost falling to the floor. She froze mid-step, her jaw dropping open as her eyes darted from the aggressive front grill to the custom wheels, and then slowly back up to my face.

"No..." she breathed out, blinking rapidly through her glasses as if trying to clear a hallucination. "No way. Tell me you did not just buy a million-dollar sports car."

I leaned against the hood with a smooth smirk, crossing my arms. "I told you I needed to handle a few things while you unpacked."

"That isn’t ’handling a few things’!" she gasped, taking a tentative step forward and pointing a finger at the sharp hood lines. "That is an absolute lethal weapon on four wheels! Do you just casually stumble into dealerships and hand them life-changing money whenever you get bored?!"

"It gets us to the taco stand faster," I gritted out with a light chuckle, walking over and offering her my hand. "Besides, I couldn’t let my date walk out of a high-rise penthouse into a rusty old bicycle."

Chloe looked down at my outstretched hand, then back at the gleaming supercar. A soft, breathless laugh escaped her lips, the faint blush returning to her cheeks as she shook her head in total, helpless amusement.

"You are completely out of your mind," she murmured softly, sliding her hand into mine. "Absolute trouble."

"Come on," I said, opening the passenger side’s scissor door for her as it swung smoothly upward. "Let’s go get those tacos."

The deep, guttural roar of the supercar turned every single head on the street as I pulled up to the curb right in front of the small, brightly painted taco stand.

The owner—a middle-aged guy wearing a flour-dusted apron—nearly dropped his spatula when the scissor door swung up. His eyes bulged out of his head as he stared at the carbon-fiber monster idling near his plastic chairs, suddenly treating us like visiting royalty. He handed over two overflowing paper trays of hot, fresh street tacos with the biggest, most respectful smile I’d ever seen on a vendor.

"Enjoy, my friends! Extra salsa on the house!" he beamed, practically bowing as we took our food.

We walked over to a weathered wooden bench nearby, completely ignoring the luxurious interior of the car to sit outside in the warm evening air.

I took a big bite of mine, the rich, seasoned meat and fresh lime exploding with flavor. "Damn," I said, leaning back and wiping my hands. "You weren’t lying. This is insanely good."

Beside me, Chloe didn’t take a bite. She was holding her taco halfway to her mouth, staring at me with an unblinking, hyper-intense expression through her glasses. The contrast between the dusty wooden bench, her fifty-thousand-dollar designer outfit, and the million-dollar ride sitting ten feet away had finally pushed her over the edge.

Slowly, she set her taco back down on the paper plate, wiped her hands on a napkin, and turned her full body to face me.

"Okay," she said, her voice dropping into a serious, deadpan tone. "I can’t take it anymore. How rich are you?!"

I raised an eyebrow, amused. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?!" she squeaked, waving her hand wildly toward the supercar, then toward her designer clothes, then back at me. "Three days ago, you were living in campus housing! You were eating cheap convenience store noodles! Everyone on campus thought you were completely broke! And now... now you’re handing out penthouses, buying sports cars like they’re candy, and tipping people ten thousand dollars!"

She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing in dead-serious curiosity.

"Are you... are you some kind of secret hidden prince?" she whispered frantically. "Like, did your royal family disown you for a year to teach you humility, and now your inheritance unlocked?!"

I was in the middle of taking a sip of my drink when the words hit me. I sputtered, completely choking on my soda, and let out a loud, uncontrollable burst of laughter right there on the bench.

"What?!" I wheezed, wiping my mouth while trying—and failing—to catch my breath. "A secret hidden prince?! Chloe, what kind of webnovels have you been reading?!"

"Don’t laugh!" she cried out, her entire face turning bright red as she buried her flushed cheeks in her hands, though a small, helpless laugh escaped her too. "It’s a completely logical question! How else do you explain all of this?!"

I finally managed to calm down, setting my drink aside as I looked at her, my eyes full of genuine amusement.

"I’m no prince," I said with a smooth, lingering grin, leaning an arm on the back of the bench. "Let’s just say... I recently came into a very lucrative system of making money. And I like spending it on people who actually appreciate it."

Chloe peeked at me through her fingers, her cheeks still burning pink, but her smile was warm, relaxed, and brighter than ever.

"You are infuriating," she murmured softly, taking her taco back up. "Absurdly rich, completely impulsive, and highly infuriating."

"And yet," I chuckled, "you’re sitting here on a taco date with me."

"Oh, please," Chloe said, setting her napkin down and trying to put on a cool, smirking expression. She crossed her arms, sitting back on the wooden bench like she was suddenly in total control of the conversation. "Don’t get too confident, Mr. Impulsive. You might have bought the tacos, but that doesn’t mean you’ve won me over yet. A few street tacos and a crazy sports car aren’t enough to make a girl fall head over heels, you know."

She tried to hold a firm, playful glare, but her nose twitched slightly, giving away just how unused she was to acting like a smooth flirt.

I just tilted my head, letting a lazy, amused grin spread across my face.

"Is that right?" I murmured softly.

Before she could process what I was doing, I leaned in close—close enough that she could feel the warmth off my shoulder—and looked straight into her eyes beneath her glasses. I casually reached out, my fingers brushing gently against her cheek as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb lingering just for a fraction of a second against her soft skin.

"Then why is your heart beating so fast I can practically hear it from over here?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave.

Chloe’s cool facade instantly crumbled into dust.

Her jaw locked, her wide eyes darted around frantically, and a wave of pure crimson flushed straight from her neck all the way up to her forehead. She choked on her own breath, trying to say something clever back, but all that came out was a series of helpless, high-pitched stammers.

"I—that’s—the salsa was spicy!" she squeaked, grabbing her cold drink with both hands and practically burying her face in the plastic cup to hide her burning cheeks. "It’s a biological reaction to capsaicin, not... not you!"

"Right. The salsa," I chuckled, leaning back into my seat with a satisfied smirk as she nearly fumbled her cup onto her lap. "You really need to work on your poker face if you’re going to try teasing me, Chloe."

"You are completely unfair," she muttered into her cup, peeking out at me with wide, embarrassed eyes, though the soft, affectionate smile on her lips made it clear she didn’t mind one bit.