“Sounds like someone’s a Scrooge.”
“Sounds like someone doesn’t know good music,” I shot back, crossing my arms.
He smirked but didn’t respond, his focus returning to the road. The silence stretched, and I wasn’t about to let him win this round of banter by default.
“Fine,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “Let’s play a game.”
“A game?” He sounded skeptical.
“Yes, a game,” I said, refusing to let his composed demeanor throw me off. “We’re playingI Spy.”
“That’s a kids’ game.”
“And yet, here we are,” I said with a grin. “Come on, Wynter. Don’t tell me you’re too sophisticated forI Spy.”
He sighed, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “Fine. You start.”
I scanned the inside of the car, trying to come up with something good. “I spy with my little eye… something black.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? In a car that’s mostly black? Way to make it challenging.”
“Stop stalling,” I said, smirking. “What is it?”
He glanced around the car, his gaze settling on the dashboard. “The steering wheel.”
“Nope.”
He frowned, his fingers tapping lightly on the wheel. “The seatbelt.”
“Wrong again.”
He gave me a sidelong look. “The giant puffy jacket you’re wearing.”
“Excuse you, this is navy, not black.” I tugged at the fabric for emphasis.
“Looks black to me,” he muttered.
“That’s because you’re colorblind.”
“I’m not colorblind.”
“Then maybe you just have bad taste,” I said sweetly.
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Okay, I give up. What is it?”
I pointed at his gloves, which were sitting in the cup holder. “Your gloves.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, though the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you,” I said, flashing him a grin. “Your turn.”
He sighed again, like he was being forced into some great hardship. “Fine. I spy with my little eye… something red.”
I glanced around the car, my brow furrowed. Red? Where was there anything red?
“The taillights of the car in front of us,” I guessed.
“Nope.”
