“Well, that takes some of the joy out of it, but I could give it a try.”
His smile is bright in the dark car, and I decide it’s a stupid smile on a stupid face. Also, the loose man bun is not at all sexy.
The next song up is my favorite Taylor Swift song, and he immediately begins butchering it.
I clench my jaw, trying to stop visualizing my hand around his throat.
Total honesty here, I’m not sure if the move would be violent or sexual. Probably both.
I reach over and flip off the radio. “If you’re not going to sing Taylor Swift properly, you’re not going to sing her at all.”
He smirks and drums his fingers to the song on his thigh. Off beat.
I take one look at him and shake my head. “I understand that the temptation is to make a comment on my enjoyment of Taylor Swift. Might I remind you that this is my car, my rules, and I will leave your ass on the side of the road if properly motivated.”
“I didn’t say a thing, man,” he says, relaxing into an angled slouch against the window as he draws his knee to his chest.
“Get your foot off my seat. And you smirked. You were going to.”
“Excuse me, the seat is ruined—it hardly matters. Also, I will happily accept you giving me shit for the things I’ve said. Totally fair, completely warranted. But you can’t give me shit for things I haven’t even said yet.”
I go back to pinching my nose. “See? That’s what I mean. What you haven’t saidyet. Why do I have to wait for the bullshit to fall out of your mouth? You get a very distinct smirk and then say something that would get you fired at any other job. Seriously, dude. In what universe are the things you say and do acceptable?”
He goes quiet, the burnt leather creaking under his adjustments.
“So…about that. Um.” He pauses, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “It was brought to my attention that while I was trying to have a little fun and get under your skin, fuck with the new guy a little…I was actually being a real asshole. And that some stuff, like the bumper stickers, could’ve been really dangerous for you. So…that won’t ever happen again. And I’m sorry.”
I take my eyes off the road and stare at him. He’d already apologized during the meeting, but this is…different. He’s meeting my gaze and looks earnest.
“Having you on the team for the last three months has made a huge difference. The op where the guy had me dead to rights and you snapped his neck…do you know how difficult it is to actually snap someone’s neck?”
In fact, I do know how difficult it is. But when I saw the guy go after Anders, it was the easiest takedown I’ve ever done. The memory unsticks my tongue.
“Dammit, Anders. Don’t do sincere. That’ll fuck with my brain, and I have to pay attention to the road.”
His smirk returns, and I damn near breathe a sigh of relief.
“Well, which is it you want, then? Asshole Anders or Sincere Anders?”
I look over at him, and this time his smiling baby blues are waiting for me. “Do you have a version called Quiet Anders? Do you have a Shut the Fuck Up and Let’s Just Get Through This Op Anders? Because I’d be very interested in meeting that guy.”
He fakes pouts, which does nothing to my insides. Or outsides. At all.
“What?” I ask, working harder than I normally would to keep the smile off my face.
“You’re mean when you’re hungry.”
I roll my eyes. “How would you know if I’m hungry or not? That’s a hell of an assumption.”
“The blender broke, so I know you didn’t get your green shake before we left. Thus, the assumption that you’re hungry.”
It’s true. I’d been so distracted by the way he was efficiently stitching up my hand, I’d forgotten entirely to make something else to eat. Hell, now I’m trying to remember if I properly cleaned up the mess.
Huh. I didn’t clean up the mess. He did.
That was…nice of him.
“Fine. Let’s say I did need to eat. I’m not familiar with this area, so I’m assuming you know the next good place to stop.”
