Can't Buy Me Love

Part 3: Drive My Car

You had your arms crossed moodily the whole ride to the Beatles house.

"Humph..." You said.

McCartney clicked his tongue.

"Would you stop doing that?" He said.

You turned to him, unhappy.

"Doing what?"

Paul turned to you. He didn't wink. Then back to the road.

(You were driving on the left side of the road, as that is the way English roads were. Paul sat on the right seat of the car, as that is how English cars are, despite Paul himself being left-handed).

"Stop making sounds." He said. "I am trying to concentrate on the radio."

He smirked, turning to you.

"Listen..." he said.

Paul turned up the knob of the radio.

Your hands shot to your ears in disgust. It was that rotten modern rock n' roll music.

If only you had your kanken still. It had your book in it. If you had your book, you could bury your nose in it, proving you were not like the other girls. If only Paul hadn't burned it at the side of the road, making you look on in horror from the locked car.

You glared at him. Paul frowned.

"It's my song." He said.

You scoffed

"I'm sorry." You said. "I only listen to the classical channels. I didn't know it was your song."

Your tone was sympathetic toward the end, not intending to insult him in a direct manner.

He was pretty. His eyes were like that of a doe, lips that of a flower, skin pale yet pink, hair dark and deep.

You looked at yourself in the left side mirror. You were very plain, with long (hair color) strands of hair, and intense, (eye color) eyes. You weren't very full figured, or very blessed in bosom. You didn't wear any makeup besides eyeliner, mascara, red lipstick, light foundation, blush, and eyeshadow.

You sighed. The English landscape was as gray as it was British.

"Paul..." You said.

Before you could finish the thought, McCartney cut in.

"That's Sir Paul, to you!" He said, though his tone was pleasant, it didn't seem like a joke. "Or, just Sir, if you're not a chatty broad. I've bought you after all."

You narrowed your eyes, but resigned, crossing your legs.

"Okay... Sir." You said.

You gazed sidelong at him, his body shapely as it was lithe.

"What are you your intentions with me?" You said, voice a bit nervous.

Paul winked, long sensual arm rested on the steering wheel, bent at the elbow.

"You'll find out." He said.