Page 197 of Worth the Trip

That part was true.

I set the book on the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel.

“Ride home with me.”

His answer came immediately.

“Gladly.”

I connected the call to the speakers and pulled from the parking lot. Landon listened while I complained about the chocolate vendor and described the teenager attempting to repair medical betrayal with midnight chocolate truffle. He laughed in the right places, offered no unnecessary solutions, and let stretches of the drive pass with nothing but music and the occasional sound of him shifting papers on his end.

“You’ve been silent for three intersections,” I said eventually.

“I’m here.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

“I know.”

I changed lanes as traffic opened. “What are you doing?”

“Looking over tomorrow’s practice plan.”

“So you’re working.”

“Little bit.”

“And riding home with me.”

“Also that.”

I glanced toward the empty passenger seat. “Multitasking.”

“I got range.”

Better.

I smiled.

“You smiling?” he asked.

“You cannot see me.”

“Didn’t ask what I could see.”

“Drive your imaginary side of the car.”

“See? Smart mouth intact. Successful Monday.”

I shook my head and let the music rise slightly.

An old R&B song came through the speakers; one I’d known since childhood. I hummed beneath it before realizing I’d done it.

Landon stopped talking.

I stopped humming.

“Don’t,” I warned.