“Plug in your iPod,” I muttered as I set the cruise control on the truck.
“I don’t have it,” Alexandra said.
If she hadn’t replied so quickly, I might have believed her.
I glanced at her and back to the road. “You’re lying, Robertson.”
“I’m not.”
I fought off a smile. Riling her up always gave me a perverse thrill. “You don’t go on a road trip without your whole freaking music library with you, and you’re the only woman I know who treats her iPod the way you do.”
“I don’t treat it in any way, Rafferty.”
“What I mean is that you’re the only one who still uses it. Everyone else our age has moved on to streaming services.”
She failed to hide her groan. “Like I want to rely on a stinking algorithm to give me good driving music.”
I chuckled. “Believe it or not, they’ve been known to work, Lex.”
Her head twisted toward the passenger window. “Yeah, well, I don’t have my iPod since Ines asked me not to bring it. Though that was her trying to keep Brantley happy.”
My grin fell away. That wasn’t cool of Ines, but I kept that opinion to myself.
We rode in silence for a good twenty minutes while I warred with myself. There was more to her story about Porter. I didn’t want to press her, but I hated not knowing how big of a moron Porter really was.
Curiosity was more dangerous to me than the most addictive drugs.
“What’s with Porter? Did he cheat?” I asked.
She scoffed. “No. Hell, if he’d done that, he’d be some other woman’s problem.”
Guess he was a little smarter than I thought.
She fell silent again.
I glanced at her. “What did he do then?”
She leaned her head back and stared at her visor. “Possibly two of the worst things he could do. He judged me after meeting Mom and Dad.”
“Say that again?”
She glanced at me. “You know how it is. People judge you for being a biker. He didn’t know Dad was a ‘biker-biker’ as he ineptly put it.”
I waited for a Mini Cooper to pass us before veering into the left lane to pass a tractor trailer. “You’re used to that, though.”
Her rueful chuckle filled the cab. “Yeah, well, let’s just say - while we were in the car today, he put a fresh spin on it.”
Those words struck me strange. “What does that mean?”
“It means we aren’t talking about this while you’re driving.”
I clenched my teeth. He’d clearly done something to her, and that pissed me off. If he hadn’t, Lex wouldn’t have any issues talking about it. Right?
We were fast approaching the interchange with I-75 and I-10. I let the conversation drop so I could concentrate on changing lanes and avoiding assholes who would cut me off because I-10 jumped out of nowhere on them.
Ninety minutes later, and I realized being in my truck with Lex was therealtorture. She was right here, but so far away. Something beyond the car crash was wrong, and she wouldn’t share.
Every few miles, I’d check to see if she’d fallen asleep. No such luck.
