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He stays still. I’m losing him. Or maybe I never had him.
“Do you want to bet on it?” I ask, and I can hear the desperation creeping into my voice.
He chuckles. “You don’t have to manipulate me.”
“Okay. I’ll ask nicely. Will you go to the bar with me, River?”
He smiles, victorious, and slides into the car. “Of course. All you had to do was ask.”
River gets in the car, and I do, too. We both buckle up.
No turning back now.
Lexi’s favorite slow jams fill the car as I drive away from the park and make my way along the rows of strip malls and walled neighborhoods filled with three- and four-bedroom houses worth a fortune.
River sways along with the music. Maybe because he enjoys the beat. Or because he imagines himself making love to Lexi here. I’m not sure.
He’s a romantic, but he’s a man, too.
And shit. He’s on his phone. Is he texting Lexi?
The music is not helping me keep his mind off her. The fact we’re in her car is bad enough. To also have her favorite music playing is not going to win me any battles here.
“How about Fleetwood Mac?” I say the first band that comes to mind. My favorite band. Because they were Mom’s favorite. And, hey, that’s not a sexy topic, either, but that’s okay. As long as I keep him distracted. “Could you stream it for me? My phone is in my purse.”
“Sure. What’s the password?”
“Lexi’s birthday.”
He takes my small black bag, finds my cell, unlocks it (of course he has her birthday memorized) and goes to work streaming.
“Rumours,” I suggest.
He laughs. “Really? You want to listen toRumours?”
“Hey. What does that mean?”
“I’ve heard you play it a million times.” I can hear the smile in his voice as I focus on the road. He’s teasing me.
Fine. Good. Whatever keeps him occupied with things not Lexi.
“You hear it all the way across the backyard?” I ask.
“You played it loud enough, back in the day.”
“If you have bad taste, we can listen to something else.”
Again, he laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“That’s a very Deanna Huntington sort of sentence.”
Okay… “How’s that?”
“If I don’t like what you like, I have bad taste.”
Ouch. “Not everything I like. ButRumours? Why not tell me you hateCasablanca?”
