I honestly didn’t know why Mendez liked driving my car, especially since all he did was make fun of it.

“Jeez, nancy-boy, I know lawnmowers that go faster than this piece of junk.”

“So let me drive.”

“No way. I drive my cars like I drive my women – I’m always the one behind the wheel.”

I looked out the window to hide my smirk. Is this guy for real?

“So, this gym I’m taking you to? It’s called Rock Hard.”

“Rock Hard?!”

Mendez looked away from the road to leer at me. “Of course, that name could be used to describe many parts of my anatomy, not just my rock-hard abs.”

“Spare me the disgusting visual, Mendez,” I groaned. I quickly changed the subject: “Does Jodi know you have a life-size cut-out of her?”

“Sure. Who do you think posed for it?” He replied, grinning from ear to ear. “She thinks I should totally become an artist, like professional.”

“Hmm,” I said. Jodi’s either a great liar or has horrible taste.

Mendez turned suddenly morose. “You still have a thing for her, too. I can tell.”