But as I reach for the controls, Vivian must have a similar idea because our fingers brush. I jerk my hand back.
“What are you doing?” Vivian asks, with his same snarky attitude.
“Turning up the music. What are you doing?”
He snorts. “Finding actual music.”
“You don’t like country?”
“Does anyone? Besides you, I mean.”
I glare at him, and he sounds almost panicked when he says, “Watch the road, Jonah. I’ll focus on the music.”
Something doesn’t make sense. Why does this bother him? I’m not driving erratically. Does he not trust me? That’s probably it.
He tries to connect his Bluetooth, and I watch, knowing it won’t work. After a few minutes, I snap my fingers. “Oh yeah. I meant to tell you, the Bluetooth doesn’t work.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a compliment.” Vivian reaches for the radio. “I’m sure I can find a good station. Or at least, a better one than this one.”
“I don’t want to listen to your crappy music.”
He stares at me. “Do you even know what music I listen to?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Right. So you can make fun of me.”
“If you’re confident in your music choices, what’s the problem?”
We’re arguing in whispers, and it feels weirdly intimate. Vivian leans over again, fiddling with the controls, and I catch his scent. I’m not sure if it’s his body wash or cologne, but it smells spicy. And expensive.
When he leans back in his seat, I can still smell it. It’s as if my brain has cataloged Vivian’s scent and now has to seek it out. And there’s no going back. Stupid brain.
The song changes to “Hate Everyone” by Say Anything, and it’s so Vivian that I almost laugh. Surprisingly, I don’t hate it. But I won’t be telling him that.
Vivian tries to ignore me. His fingers drop again as he taps his leg.
“Does my driving make you nervous, Vivian?”
“Ha. You make me nervous,” he mumbles, but surely, I couldn’t have heard that right.
It’s quiet, the only sounds are the soft music, Dad’s snores in the back, and the tires on the road. And for a while, I can focus on driving and not the man beside me.
“Excuse me,” Vivian says as he reaches over to turn the music up just a little bit louder. His spicy scent attacks my senses again, and it’s a reminder that while Vivian is pretty as hell, he’s still a man, and my body likes to forget that we hate each other.
I need to do something, so I roll down the window to get some air. And by roll, I mean, I push the button. But it only goes down part of the way and then sits at a jagged angle.
I push the button to roll it back up. Nothing. Great. I tap it a few more times, first up and then down. The window slips a little.
“What are you doing?” Vivian asks.
“Fuck off.” My words are automatic. I can’t focus on Vivian. I need to figure out how to fix this. The window is off its track, so I’ll have to manually reset it. If the regulator is damaged, that’s a completely different problem, and we’ll have to take off the door panel?—
“Shut the window, Jonah,” Vivian says in a harsh whisper.
