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We lock eyes and dissolve into laughter, which leaves your cheeks sore and your belly aching.
It's like slipping into a well-worn sweater, one I haven't felt in years but fits perfectly.
To the outside world, he's Jett Silver, rockstar extraordinaire. To me, he will always be the kid from down the street with the treehouse.
The boy who used to flick boogers at me.
We settle into easy silence, listening to the local radio station's rotation of classic rock.
The music takes me back to my high school days. A faint smile tugs at my lips as memories wash over me.
The opening riff of “Eternal Nights,” the smash hit from Soul Obsession's latest album, suddenly blares from the speakers–jolting me out of my reverie.
“Oh, I love this song!” I exclaim, reaching to crank up the volume without thinking.
Jett chuckles beside me. “You would. It's bloody inescapable these days.”
I shoot him a playful glare. “Jealous their stuff is getting more airplay than yours?”
“Maybe a little,” he admits with a wink. “Though I guess that's the price you pay for selling out arenas instead of stadiums.”
As the chorus hits, I belt out the lyrics, pouring my pent-up energy into the song.
Jett drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the thumping bass line and head bobbing, but then he surprises me by adding his rich baritone to the chorus.
When I let loose, Jett matches me beat for beat, his voice raw and powerful.
Our voices blend in a strangely intimate way, the sound filling the car.
The song fades out, leaving us grinning like idiots. “Not bad, rockstar,” I tease, giving him a playful nudge.
Jett shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I do okay.”
An easy silence lapses between us as the next track starts playing.
“I was supposed to see these guys on their last tour, you know,” I say wistfully. “But the tickets sold out before I could snag any.”
There's a glint in Jett's eye as he glances sidelong at me. “I might be able to pull some strings. Get you into their next gig.”
“Sure,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “I bet you're best buddies with every rock star on the planet.”
He shrugs, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Let's just say I know a guy who knows a guy.”
I snort, shaking my head at his blatant attempt to impress me. “Whatever you say, Mr. Bigshot.”
Jett's lips twitch, but he doesn't elaborate further.
I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. The golden light casts his chiseled profile in sharp relief, catching the faint dusting of stubble along his jaw.
The rough-edged boy from our youth has been transformed into someone confident, almost dangerous in his raw magnetism.
His brow is furrowed in concentration; those full lips slightly parted as he navigates the winding road.
The vintage Mustang hits a patch of uneven road, jerking me out of my reverie.
I let out a surprised yelp as the chassis bounces over the bumps. Instinctively, I reach out to steady myself, my hand landing on Jett's arm.
Jett tenses, his bicep flexing beneath my fingers. I catch Jett's Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
