Behind me, Eaden cleared his throat. “Rachel?” He was holding open the door of a sleek, tiny black sports car, the kind I didn’t know the name of, but recognized as expensive. He looked amused at the way my mouth fell open a little.“You drive?” I was dumbfounded. I walked back towards him and the glossy black automobile.He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I drive. I’m immortal, not Amish.
-Georgia Bell
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