Page 121 of Wardrobe Malfunction

I glance at him, but whatever expression he was wearing is gone, and his face is schooled. “And, of course, you have a hot ass,” he adds with a grin.

“That the sun shines out of,” I remind him.

“Yeah, we should check that out later.”

“The sun shining out of my ass?”

“Mmhmm. For scientific purposes, of course.” His hand finds his way to my butt, giving it a squeeze.

“Scientific purposes? Sure, West.” I laugh. “Well, check away, buddy, but there’ll be no sticking of anything in my sun-shining ass.”

“Spoilsport.” He sighs dramatically, making me laugh again.

We both climb in the car and buckle up.

“You want some music on?” he asks me when he fires up the engine.

“What have you got?”

“There are some CDs in the glove box,” he tells me as he puts the car in drive.

I open it up and pull out a CD case. I start flicking through it. “I didn’t know you liked Nirvana,” I say, coming across Nevermind in his CDs.

“The question should be, who doesn’t like Nirvana?”

“Right?” I smile. “Nick doesn’t like their music.”

“And you’re friends with him why?” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to look at me, giving a teasing smile.

My stomach fills with warmth. I love that we both love Nirvana.

“It was a bone of contention in the beginning of our friendship, but because he understood my love of clothes, I decided to overlook it.” I twist in my seat, bringing my knees up, so I can look at him. “Which is your favorite song?”

“‘Lithium,’” he states. “Yours?”

“I’m always torn between ‘Come As You Are’ and ‘Heart-Shaped Box.’”

“Both are great,” he says.

“What do you think of the Foo Fighters?”

“That they’re life.”

I smile, agreeing. “Dave Grohl’s kinda hot, too,” I admit.

“Nah, he’s not my type.” He glances at me, smiling. “I like ’em cute and blonde. Oh, yeah, and female.”

“With pink and lilac highlights.”

“Of course.” He reaches over and tugs on a lock of my hair. “There should be a couple of Foo Fighters albums in there as well,” he tells me.

“We’ll listen to them on the way back. I kinda want to listen to Nirvana now.” I pull the CD from the case and insert it into the CD player. I put the case back in the glove box just as “Smells Like Teen Spirit” starts to play.

I relax back in my seat and reach over to rest my hand on Vaughn’s thigh, squeezing it. He takes ahold of my hand, linking our fingers together, and he doesn’t let go for the rest of the journey.

Charly

Vaughn pulls into a parking lot. There are hardly any cars here. He parks the farthest away from the other cars and turns the engine off.