Page 68 of Wrecked

When the car is righted, he looks over to me. “You okay?”

I take a deep breath through my nose. “Yeah. I’m an accident pro by now.”

By the look on his face, he is not amused by my comment. My foot hits something on the floor, so I lean down to see it’s Adam’s phone. When I pick it up, the screen is lit, showcasing an audio file.

“You listen to audio books?” I am way too excited about this revelation.

He leans over and tries to grab the phone from my hand, but I back up into the door.

“Eyes on the road, buddy!”

Thumbing through the app, I click on a book, and a male narrator’s voice comes pouring through the phone’s speaker.

“Lately, I find myself thinking more and more about her but not only as a friend.”

His arm reaches out, but I pull the phone in.

“I notice little details about her that haven’t caught my attention in years but glare out at me now. Every time I look at her, it’s like I’m seeing someone new, not the girl I grew up with and have known for years.”

He snatches the phone out of my hand and turns it down.

I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. “You listen to romance novels!”

If he could close his eyes in mortification, I’m sure he would.

Instead, he lifts his chin, and as someone who possesses one hundred percent confidence in himself, he says, “I spend a lot of time in my car. And not just romance. I listen to thrillers. James Patterson, John Connolly, Stephen King.”

I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face. “And I just happened to spy on the one day you’re enjoying a contemporary romance?” Curling my feet back up on the seat, I lean onto the console. “What’s it about?”

He rubs the side of his face and answers, “I haven’t gotten very far, but they’re childhood best friends, and they’re in love with each other.”

With the most nonchalant attitude I can muster, I reply, “Oh.”

The silence in the car is deafening. He’s clutching his phone in his hand like the world will explode if he lets it go.

Cautiously, I ask, “Can we listen to it? Together?”

His brows pinch in.

I lean further into his side. “You won’t let me listen to music, and I’ve never heard a book on tape. If it’s chick lit, then it’s perfect for a girl like me.”

I bat my eyelashes a bazillion times until he finally looks my way.

With an exasperated breath, he says, “Fine. But we’re not listening from the beginning.”

I sit back and cross my legs, Indian-style. “No problem. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

He turns on his radio and hands me the phone to sync his Bluetooth.

The book resumes where it left off. “My heart beats erratically—slowing down, speeding up—and my palms start to sweat a little when I stare in her direction.”

I sit back in my seat and listen to the story. This is going to be good.

chapter FIFTEEN

It was a very bad idea. The book is called Gravity by some author named Lauren Runow, and I’m convinced she’s a sadist.

When we get to the house, I am so enthralled in the story that I don’t get up.