“I think I’m starting to understand.”
He meets my watchful gaze briefly. “I think I thought you might.”
Lovesong
The Cure
Natalie
Easton adjusts himself in the driver’s side, fixing the rearview before turning to me.
“What?” I ask as he starts the SUV and raises an expectant brow.
“Seriously, I’ve got a high IQ, but I’m no mind reader—”
I’m cut off by the sheer force of restraint when I come face-to-face with Easton Crowne as he covers my body with his in an effort to buckle me in. Despite being slightly sweaty, his raven hair smells incredible—as does the rest of him—as I’m struck senseless by just how accessible he is at the moment. I drink in what I can—the ridiculous length of his lashes, the dark freckle imprinted near the corner of his jaw, and the texture of his lips, which are at the moment dangerously close to mine.
Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale.
In the next second, he’s gone, and I’m left in near heart attack status as he resumes his position behind the wheel as if he didn’t just assault me.
“You could have just told me,” I chide lightly as he puts the SUV into gear, amusement twisting his lips. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve become dangerously attracted to this man. It wasn’t instant, but it’s now evident, and it’s a no-fly zone. I decide to nip it in the bud by putting him on the offense.
“We’re on record now,” I declare, setting the boundaries.
“Don’t want to ease into this at all, huh?” He shakes his head, reaching behind my seat into his duffle—again invading my space—his eyes rolling down my profile before he produces his cellphone. Unlocking it, he taps it a few times and hands it to me. I grab it to see he’s opened his music app, and not only that, a compiled list of songs. Curious, I scroll through to see it’s never-ending. There are hundreds, if not thousands, on the playlist.
“Are you trying to distract me by letting me play DJ, Crowne?”
He remains silent as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“That’s a lot of pressure considering…”
“You can’t choose wrong,” he assures, pulling to a stop at the main road and looking in each direction in indecision.
“Don’t know where you’re going?”
“Nope.”
I close out of his playlist and pull up a GPS app.
“Do you have the address?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay?” I drawl out.
“Lost.”
“We’re going to get lost?”
“Why not?” He says, taking a right turn. “You said yourself you don’t want to do the tourist thing.”
“How can you get lost when you’ve lived here all your life?”
“I spent a good amount of my childhood touring with my parents and the band. Trust me, I can get lost anywhere.”
“Okay. But you will answer some questions,” I state with emphasis.
“The ones I want to.”
“That’s not really fair.”
His expression hardens. “Pretty sure we should keep fair and ethical out of our conversations due to hypocrisy.”
“Touché, and I already apologized for that.”
“Hurry up and choose,” he nods toward the phone in my hand.
“Not a fan of silence?”
“Not when I have an alternative,” he quips.
“Should I be insulted, considering you’re in my company?”
“It’s me being me,” he muses.
“Fair enough.”
Tapping back into his music app and list, I scroll through and press a random song. Unfamiliar music fills the cabin of the SUV as I note the title, “Lovesong” by The Cure. Easton immediately starts tapping his fingers on the wheel and turns it up. Reaching for the volume on the console, I turn it down, giving him a pointed look.
“Just relax,” he sighs, “we’ll get to it.”
He drives a few miles when his phone rings, and we both zero in on the ID on the dash.
Mom.
Our stares linger on the screen as he turns into a nearby gas station. When he answers the call my eyes bulge.
“Mom, hold up a second, okay?”
Stella’s easy reply comes over the line. “Okay.”
The need to flee engulfs me and must be evident on my face as Easton disconnects the Bluetooth and leans over. “Want to grab us something?”
I nod as he goes to pull out his wallet.