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My stomach fluttered, and I hated how much I loved that he had no idea what he’d just revealed.

“You’re drugged,” I reminded him.

“You drugged me.” His eyes widened behind the sunglasses.

I burst out laughing.

“It’s s’okay. I like being drugged by you.” The ridiculousness of the sentence had heat creeping up my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

The truck rumbled beneath us as we passed familiar storefronts and quiet streets lined with trees that had mostly lost their leaves. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the engine, the tires against pavement, and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Then—

“You were pretty.”

I glanced over. He stared straight ahead, as though the words had slipped out without him realizing he’d said them.

“Were?”

His brow furrowed like he was trying to find the right word. “Are.”

I grinned. “Better.”

“You were pretty in high school too.”

My fingers flexed around the steering wheel.

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“Thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

A soft laugh escaped. “Oh, really?”

“Mm-hmm.” His head bobbed once. Matter-of-fact. “I was fourteen.”

I couldn't stop smiling. “Fourteen?”

“Maybe fifteen.”

I glanced at him. The medication had loosened the careful control he usually carried. The jokes were still there, but now everything underneath them slipped through too.

“You know what else?”

“What else?” I already knew I was going to regret asking. His head turned toward me. The sunglasses hid his eyes, but I still felt the weight of his attention.

“I liked your laugh.”

My chest squeezed. “Lane . . .”

“You still do it.”

I swallowed.

He smiled. “Same laugh.” For a moment, the words stole every response I had. The road blurred slightly. I blinked and refocused.

Lane sighed dramatically. “You’re really pretty.”

I laughed. “There it is.”