“Where do you live?”
“You can just take me back to the office.”
“I will not. I’m taking you home.”
“The office.”
“Your apartment.”
I glared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She had chocolate frosting all over her freckled cheeks.
Her tongue darted out to lick at it.
I swallowed. I did not find her attractive one iota.
You have to logically admit that it is the slightest bit sexy.
Thought killed, assassinated, nuked from orbit,
“Can you turn on the radio? It’s going to be a long drive … back to the office.”
“I like the silence.”
“You can’t drive in silence. That’s sacrilegious.”
“It’s my car.”
“I’m your captive prisoner here in the back seat.”
My stomach clenched. I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up.
“Is this one of those fancy cars where I can connect my phone?” Lexi asked.
“No.”
“Yes, it is. I can see the logo right there.”
She leaned over to point.
“Don’t unbuckle your seatbelt.”
There was blessed silence in the back seat.
Then the car radio made a beeping noise I’d never heard before. Suddenly the sound of singing African wildlife blared at an eardrum-rupturing volume from the car speakers.
I banged on the dashboard, cursing whoever had decided it was a good idea to swap out honest-to-god physical buttons with a touch screen.
“I have the app on my phone, so I’m controlling the music,” Lexi yelled over the cacophony.
“Turn it off.”
The song ended. Then another equally oppressive song began, and Lexi sang along, not in key, and not very well.
This is hell. I’m in hell.
“Sometimes if you’re having a bad day, you can sing and it all goes away.”
“Just tell me where your apartment is,” I said slowing down as traffic stopped.
