“What do you like?” sheasks.
You.I shake my head both at her question and my instinct to answer. “Oh no . . . nope, this is all you. I wasn’t kidding. You’re theDJ.”
She rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile plays on her lips. “Okay, then. You might regret thatdecision.”
I won’t. Nothing could happen today that would make me regret asking Jess to ride shotgun. The tune that pipes into my top of the line sound system pushes laughter from my lips.Hanson.Boy bands are the devil, but boy bands from my own youth . . . I twist in my seat and send her aglare.
“I told you!” She laughs along before joining into the Mmm’s and Bop’s of the chorus. I want to hate this song. God, do I want to hate it, but the pure joy exuding from her transforms my scowl to that same goofy smile from before.God damn you,Hanson!
“Why? Why, Jess?” My lips form a smirk and I shake my head, which only causes her to sing along louder. Fuck it. I join in, too. It’s not like I don’t know the words. My sister used to blare this shit non-stop.
The song comes to an end and she shakes her head, smile still in place as she lowers the volume. “You’re a good sport. I haven’t listened to that one inyears.”
“Yeah, let’s keep it that way,” Ijoke.
“Hold up.” She lifts a finger, and those lips push to a little pout that I’ve now memorized as her thinking face. It’s fucking adorable. The next song she selects is thankfully one I don’t hate, some indie rock I’ve never heard before. She settles back into the comfort of the seat, her eyes squinting with the rush of air into the cab. A few strands of hair escape the band holding the rest back and whip across herface.
“We can roll the windows up.” I realize how rude it is that I haven’t offered. If there’s one thing I know about women, it’s that they hate their hair getting messedup.
“No!” She sits forward and reaches out to stop my hand. “I lovethis.”
She loves this. Good. Because I do, too. Not just the gorgeous morning or the windows down. But her, here, in my car. Hands on my phone. Lips pursed with concentration. Soft smiles when her tune comeson.
We fall into an easy silence as the miles pass all too quickly. The closer we get to the rehab center, the more my anxiety claws its way into the joy of this time with Jess. My fingers tap along the steering wheel with every song she plays, but even that’s not enough. Tension creeps into my shoulders and I begin to worry abouteverything.
Was this a good idea? How will Iz treat her? God, I hope he doesn’t ask her to buy him drugs. She’s probably having a horrible time. This is boring as fuck. When the rest of the band finds out, are they going to give her shit? How will Coy react?Fuck.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Her voice cuts through the building tension and chases the worries from myhead.
“Oh, uh.” I clear mythroat.
“You don’t have to tell me. But you look a little intense. Worried about yourfriend?”
“Yeah, kinda.” I turn my chin to find her wide brown eyes full of sincerity. “When you meet him . . . just . . . don’t judge a book by its cover. He’s not entirelyhimself.”
“Drugs do that. I get it.” By the solemnity of her answer, I think shedoes.
“You understand.” It’s not a question but she answersregardless.
“I do. I’ve seen some really messed up people. Good people. Bad ones,too.”
I nod, appreciative of her effort to ease my nerves. “So, let’s not talk about depressing shit. We’ve been in the car almost two hours and I know nothing new aboutyou.”
Her lips pull up with a smirk. “Not true. You know I have a thing forHanson.”
“Does that appreciation extend to all boybands?”
“Oh, yes. It’s one of my guilty pleasures. If I’m having a bad day and I put on a song like that? It can turn itaround.”
“I like it. Tell memore.”
“About my affinity for boybands?”
“No.” A chuckle leaves my mouth. “More aboutyou.”
“I don’t know. There’s not much to tell.” She’s back to chewing on her lipagain.
“I’m sure there’s so muchmore.”
